NADWD - Retake Five
by Known Unknown
Summary: Official continuation of Scyphi's fic: The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck. Read that first, or face confusion! After surviving a full on Negaverse invasion, the straggling remains of the Fearsome Five find that there no rest for the semi-wicked: not when they owe it to St. Canard to be a better class of criminal! But with their luck, reclaiming their bad name may be difficult...
1. Back in the Saddle

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where Negaduck has recently nearly taken over St. Canard with a multi-dimensional army, and now after his defeat the world is going through a few changes.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Retake Five - Pt 1 – Back In The Saddle**

* * *

 _St. Canard, The Bad Part Of Town_

The Old Haunt had seen better days. Anyone who had ever so much as looked at the crusty old bar knew that. In the old days, it was a fact it's loyal patrons were resigned to: and anyone who wasn't a regular stupid enough to actually walk in risked a close-and-personal history lesson about why the place could never stay pristine – one typically taught by way of ramming faces through walls.

But in the present, it was something of a relief. The Old Haunt had _always_ seen better days. So even when singed and ruined, it still felt like nothing really changed. The rest of the city, on the other hand… it was easiest to simply say that was a lot to come to grips with, and a good drink with old "friends" didn't hurt much in that regard.

It was difficult to believe, even now. Few people ever really believed that Negaduck could ever make good on his promises and threats. He had been around for years, after all, and the city was still standing. Supervillains somehow became easy to ignore when you saw them every other week. The idea that he and his gang were capable of amassing an army blindsided the desensitized populace, let alone his being capable of nigh-completely taking over their dear St. Canard and defeating its protectors – even temporarily. The day it happened, even the brutes, criminals and thugs that usually populated the Haunt were shocked as the city simply… fell. And before they could amass a means of fighting back, _they_ fell as well.

Negaduck spent more time than anyone was comfortable with living like a king, bleeding the city dry and scheming to spread his evil across the globe, as St. Canard's people languished as mind-controlled shades of themselves. All the while, monsters prowled the streets and armies fought each other to the bitter end under or against the banner of the Negaverse.

The way those who managed to stay free described it, it was like being stuck in hell.

But now Negaduck was gone, and most citizens were trying to pick their lives back up after the dark times. It was surprisingly easy – there was a lot to be said about a population that could ignore supervillains in the first place, and then go back to their routine a few days after a total invasion. But it was still a shaky time, not the least for Negaduck's former gang… though a better word would be pawns, if they were honest. And they had no reason to lie to themselves any more.

Reginald Bushroot, Quackerjack and Rowe P. W. Lutra never used to frequent the Haunt. That was more Megavolt's speed, back when he was a member. But now they were there every day, it seemed – taking up space, barely drinking and silently annoying the management with their presence. Tonight's visit found them filling up seats at the bar, looking morose and trying not to attract attention.

The Old Haunt had but a single dingy tv with terrible reception, but it showed the news well enough. The faded image of a parade – yet another thrown in the honor of Darkwing Duck and his allies – flashed onscreen. It was ignored by the most of the bar-goers, except those muttering jeers at the unhearing heroes. Occasionally, Rowe or Bushroot glanced up at the screen while Quackerjack sipped something bubbly out of a curly straw – seemingly oblivious.

The reporter on the scene was just finishing up her report. "… and so, yet another celebration of our heroes' victory makes its march through crowded streets, while St. Canard tries to put behind the disarray Negaduck's invasion left us all facing."

Bushroot laughed under his breath. That she was able to say that with a straight face was impressive. She looked practically fresh out of school, yet the network had her doing a job usually saved for far more experienced reporters: a certain sign that even the major news outlets were still in disarray and desperate for new employees.

"As with the other parades and accolades the city has given them," the reporter continued, "invitations were also extended to known criminals Reginald Bushroot, Quackerjack and Rowe P. W. Lutra, along with an offer for a full pardon." Bushroot's laugh died instantly. He and Rowe put their heads down, but Quackerjack kept on drinking. "As well as certain as-of-yet-classified individuals who are confirmed to have come from different dimensional planes from our own. Again, they have all declined. Given these individuals' probable complicity in the events of the invasion, this reporter is unsure what to make of this… but it would be nice to have a few more allies as the city regrows."

She sounded almost hopeful. Bushroot had to chuckle again at the poorly hidden youthful idealism.

"This city really knows how to set itself up," he thought to himself.

The story was wrapping up, now. "Nevertheless, it remains to be seen how this city will go about recovering after the cataclysm. It may take months, or even years for us to return to where we were. There are still more questions to ask, many of Darkwing Duck and S.H.U.S.H. themselves, but for now there is much to celebrate – and this reporters intends to do so." She winked at the camera. "This is Julia Plumis, signing out for now."

The bar rumbled as the report went off, mostly lowlives jeering about the pretty reporter. Bushroot and Rowe, who by now were watching earnestly, look back down at their drinks.

"Well, that was boring." Quackerjack said absently. He had taken to balancing his drink on top of a toothpick tower. The others were mildly surprised he was even paying attention. "Who's up for Mr. Rooster's Neighborhood?"

"Oh, I don't know. Seemed pretty informative to me!" The trio turned. A burly bovine thug walked up to them, towing a trio of pug faced goons.

"Buzz off, mate," Rowe grunted, not bothering to look up.

"Hey, now! We wanted to thank ya! Helping to save the city and all. You boys are our heroes!" The entire bar erupted in laughter. Spurred on, the thugs stepped into the trio's personal space.

"Some villains." One of the goons joked. "This place is for real bad guys! What're you even doing here?"

"Having cheap drinks over persiflage with philistines, apparently." Quackerjack quipped, now juggling his empty glass in one hand. The thugs bristled, and the ever-present grin on Quackerjack's face grew wider.

"Hey! Are you insulting us?"

Quackerjack hopped off of the barstool, replacing his glass with his faithful Mr. Banana Brain. He leaned into the head head thug's face, squeaking obnoxiously at his souring expression. "How'd you guess, Bess?"

The lowlives were cracking their knuckles now. Bushroot sighed again, and Rowe stared intently at his drink – but they were both stiffening up, preparing to jump into action at any moment. Not noticing this, the head brute continued to posture. "I'll have you know we all lost a lot when Negaduck took over. Some of us lost a little money, some a little power. Some of us just can't sleep right no more." The rest of the bar roared in agreement. "But we ain't stupid like those folks throwin' parades. We know you lot helped him do it."

"We said buzz off, mate." Rowe muttered again, though sharper this time. "Negaduck's not our boss any more."

"Yeah, you turned traitor for the do-gooders just in time to get credit for it," the bull said. He snatched Quackerjack's collar and violently yanked him forward. The others tensed, but didn't move yet. "Problem is, that ain't enough for us."

"So… wait, I'm confused." Quackerjack said, giggling. He didn't even try to get out of the bull's grip. "Are you bothering us because we joined up with the 'do-gooders,' or because we didn't do it fast enough?"

"I… you… same difference!"

Bushroot suddenly stood up in attempt to cut off the conflict before it could continue. "Look, this is getting us nowhere," He said judicially. "Negaduck screwed over everyone. It's true. And we were there for part of it. So what do you want, a pound of flesh? Because that might be a problem."

"Oh, come on!" Quackerjack whined. "Let's just start playing around already!"

"Let it go, Quackerjack…"

"I would if he'd let me go!"

The thugs ignored their arguing. "Pound of flesh?" The bull said. "Well, now that you mention it…"

There was a sudden chorous of kliks, and suddenly they all had knives.

"Alright, fine…" Rowe downed his drink in one gulp and rose to his feet as well. "You lot asked for it…"

* * *

 _Twenty Minutes Later_

"And stay out!"

It hadn't been the first time any of the three supervillains had been bodily evicted from someplace. It was the first time in a long while that the hands-on eviction had been handled by someone that wasn't a superhero, a supervillain or some kind of horrible magical superbeast, but that hardly made the feeling of hitting the tarmac less strangely familiar.

Not that it was in the least bit embarrassing, either, no matter who was doing the throwing. The phrase "you should see the other guy" would never have been more apt, should someone come along and ask about it. Chances are those thugs wouldn't be using those knives on anyone for quite a while – it would take a good surgeon to even find them. And that wasn't even mentioning the Old Haunt itself, which would probably need renovations for probably the first time since it was built.

It was one doozy of a fight, that's for sure. Each of them could and would wave it off by tomorrow, no problem. But no, what really bothered them was that it happened in the first place.

"Oh come on, mate, you know that wasn't our fault!" Rowe shouted as the other two pulled themselves out of the dirt. "We were just trying to mind our own business!"

"You're going throw out three loyal customers out to the street because some punks harassed them?" Bushroot added with a scornful sniff. He patted himself through a quick physical checklist, scowling when he noticed a few chipped roots. "That doesn't seem like good business."

The bartender was standing at the door, staring at them with icy, uncouth eyes. "Better than youse think," he grunted in a hoarse, worn-out voice. "Some 'punks' who got the whole bar behind 'em? I can sides with them easy. Turns out that crowd fulla guys what hates you makes up mosta my business. I can handle losin' three has-beens."

The three villains' stares hardened. "Can I nerf him?" Quackerjack said, grinning evilly and hefting a harmless looking – but certainly not actually harmless – toy pistol. The supposed nerf in its felt bullets could lay waste to the entire building with one shot.

There was a long moment, where Rowe and Bushroot actually seemed to be considering it. "Nah." Was the eventual reply. "We've got better things to do, mate."

Without another word, Rowe and Bushroot turned and walked away. Quackerjack lingered for a moment, his dark stare abruptly replaced with a childish grin.

"When you fish those other losers' heads out the plumbing," he laughed, turning away with a shrug. "Tell 'em they can play with us any time!"

The three stalked off down the street, aimlessly wandering into the night. After watching them go, the bartender let out the breath he had been holding since the pistol came out. "Supervillains, I swear…" he groaned, thinking about the unpleasant post-brawl mess he would have to clean up after closing tonight. To think they were complaining to him, after the state they left his establishment in…

"Now that was fun. What're we going to do next? I've been starving for action." "Rob a bank? Wreak some havoc? Set up a toy drive… of doom? I've always wanted one of those…"

"Let's just go back to the hideout, mate." Rowe sighed.

Quackerjack pouted. "We always go back to the hideout. I wanna have some fun!"

"It just ain't worth it, Quackie," Bushroot muttered quietly. "Maybe tomorrow."

Quackerjack mumbled something about them saying that every day, but Rowe and Bushroot ignored him.

Ever since the fall of Negaduck, the remains of the Fearsome Five had been rather subdued – in fact, as far as anyone outside their circle knew they had disappeared off the face of the Earth. After the time they were forced to spend helping to take their former boss down, the devious enthusiasm that had once led them to make headlines had disappeared, except in Quackerjack's case.

Bushroot often shut himself up in his lab instead of scheming, yet he never seemed to work on any new projects that could have otherwise resulted in amusing shenanigans. And Rowe did little but sit in his room, eating old fish and staring at the wall – or the news, watching footage of Darkwing's partner the Crimson Avenger – sighing dramatically in what Quackerjack felt was a completely pathetic show.

They weren't the only ones. The seedy underbelly of St. Canard was a proverbial ghost town, even if the city itself was starting to regrow some of the bustle and vigor that usually characterized it. After Negaduck's invasion failed, an enormous power vacuum had opened over the city's dark corners. But nobody took it. Sure, there were small-time pretenders who tried to make a name for themselves now that all the big names were out of commission – the Neo Cheese Gang, bless them, almost made the news the other day – but they were generally incompetents and newbies, not real movers and players. Organized crime like the Davidson Gang was ducking its head and supervillainy was at an all time low.

They wouldn't ever admit it, but the problem was hope. Negaduck's defeat had created an atmosphere of mirth and blissful confidence that hovered about the city like silver lining. St. Canard has barely survived, and ultimately defeated, oblivion. Nobody wanted to be the one to break the illusion, even the nastier elements out there. After all, if one were stupid enough to be the first one attacking the city after a cataclysm like that, they would have every hero and crimefighter from St. Canard to Mouseton hunting them down and out for blood… and it would not be pretty.

It was a strange day when the greatest crooks in St. Canard, possibly the world, spend their days sitting in bars grousing about days gone by. Especially when the person responsible for that is Negaduck. But there it was. Thanks to him, the Fearsome Five were spending another night at home wallowing in their uncertainty and sullied reputations rather than doing what they did best. And frankly, Quackerjack was starting to get tired of it. Used to be any one of them could pull off a plan that would bring the city to its knees – or at least to a wobbly, stumbling panic.

And now they were trudging down the street, kicked out of the only bar in town that would take them. It was tragic, really.

Quackerjack had thought once or twice about just leaving the ragged remains of the Fearsome Five and striking out on his own again. It wasn't as if he hadn't done so before. And he knew Rowe and Bushroot had thought about the same more than once. But for some reason, when push came to shove none of them felt inclined to walk away. There was always some excuse or another: it too tedious to find another place that could store all his fake teeth; he couldn't think of anybody else who could really laugh at his jokes; he still owed Bushroot ten bucks from a few years back; or whatever reason he could think of for why he just wasn't leaving… at least not yet…

These thoughts came to a literal screeching halt as he and Rowe crashed into Bushroot, who had suddenly stopped. Quackerjack looked up: they had made it to old industrial building they called home sweet hideout, but that didn't explain the sudden pileup.

"Hey!" He whined, not that he didn't mind an excuse to cut off that train of thought. "What gives?"

Bushroot simply pointed ahead. Rowe and Bushroot followed his finger, and quickly found that their troubles for the night were not quite over yet.

"Oh, what now?!" Rowe groaned, throwing his head back in frustration.

The door to the hideout was ajar. Aimless and possibly washed up or no, no self respecting villain ever left their hideouts unlocked they were expecting someone to "sneak" in, and there were no deathtraps planned for tonight. Someone had busted in – which seemed unbelievable, given that this was one of Negaduck's old hide-aways (the security systems made even Quackerjack nervous). But that seemed to be life for the Fearsome Five these days.

"Just what we need." Bushroot groaned. "An uninvited pest."

"Sounds like fun!" Quackerjack grinned. "Let's give 'em the old Fearsome Five welcome!"

"Not yet."

Quackerjack's smile fell into a disappointed scowl. "Aww…" He affected his best "whiny kid" voice, and latched onto Bushroot's leg as if he were a child begging for a toy. "Come on, Papa Bushroot! Pleeeeease?!"

"I mean," Bushroot said sharply, shaking his leg to throw Quackerjack off. "Let's be informed first." He leaned down to chat with some grass growing through the cracks of the sidewalk. After a short but muffled conversation to convinve them to help (muddled with wild tangents about urban planning and photosynthetsis, as it were) the tiny blades obligingly grew into long, winding tendrils. They grew like wildfire, slithering across the ground and into the open door.

A few minutes later, it returned with a status report: the kind of messenger one could only get in a city like St. Canard.

"Bad luck, Quackerjack," Bushroot said, listening to the grass gab away. "There's no one inside. But someone did leave us a package."

Rowe tensed, ignoring the excited "ooooh!" that the whole street could've probably heard from Quackerjack. "Ominous, mate. A bomb, d'ya think?"

"Not unless someone's crazy or ballsy enough to plant a gigantic explosive right in the middle of our lair and then just leave the door open?"

"I would do it" Quackerjack said absently.

The other two looked at him for a moment. Then caught each other's eye. That was a very good point, worth at least a second thought.

"Yeah…" Rowe started slowly. "Buuut… there's no motive."

Quackerjack grinned. "True. If I were going to take this place out I'd do it in a much more festive way than random delivery…"

Laughing at the joke – or at least what two of their number hoped was a joke – the trio made their way inside to inspect things for themselves.

The "package" was difficult to miss – not while it was sitting in the middle of their living room. It was large crate, seemingly made of metal. The sides were nondescript and totally void of any identifying marks, and it was far too heavy to lift unassisted. Even with the three of them together, they could barely get it off of the floor.

"Okay…" Rowe panted, as they finally gave up moving it for now. "Who delivered this?!"

There was no answer to be had for that question either. There were no signs of a mailman: no foot prints, no handprints on the door, no tracks where someone might have push or pulled the box.

Whoever arranged to have this brought in was good.

"I'd settle for knowing what it is." Bushroot sighed. He hit his fist against the metal, and winced. "There must be some way to open this stupid- oh!"

At the sound of the word "open" the crate whirred to life – and Bushroot's complaint died on his lips. The metal sides began to shift, revealing small glimpses of some manner of inner workings pushing and moving parts from inside.

The top of the box retracted, and some kind of mechanism attached to a speaker and camera rose from within. A voice came out of it, garbled and unrecognizable. "Gentlemen."

"Jack-in-the-box!" Quackerjack squealed.

Bushroot had to restrain his comrade from diving for the box. "Who are you?" He said warily.

The voice response was careful and measured, almost businesslike. "I suppose you could call this an… elaborate phone call."

"At least it's not some kind of evil robot. Again." Bushroot whispered to Rowe so that the box – or whoever was on the other end – couldn't hear. "But still…"

Rowe nodded quietly, keeping his eyes trained on it.

"I am an interested party," the voice continued, unaware of their quiet conversation, "looking for the remains of the group known as the 'Fearsome Five.'"

Quackerjack opened his mouth, but Rowe beat him to his response. "You just missed them. They're the three suckers who just walked outta here without talkin' to the creepy robot box."

Bushroot and Rowe turned and began heading back for the door, already thinking about where they could find a new place to lay low. The box, and its mysterious controller, were willfully but instantly ignored.

Bushroot glanced at Quackerjack, who hadn't moved with the other two. "Come on, Quackie."

"B-but… jack-in-the-box…" Quackerjack cried. His eyes were stretched out so that they were big as saucers, and he looked at Rowe and Bushroot like a kid asking for a Christmas present.

"A-are you seriously doing the puppy dog pout?" Rowe laughed. "What are you, a high school cheerleader?"

The voice quickly interrupted the banter, it's tone insistent. "I assure you, there is no need to be brusque! This is not a threat. It is a job offer."

Bushroot rolled his eyes, though he did still turn from the door. "Oh, that's even better."

There was a muffled scoff audible from the other side. "I have a task for which I need… unique aid… and for which I am willing to pay a great deal."

"That's the definition of 'a job,' yes." Rowe drawled. "Anything to actually keep us here?"

There was a pause. "Let me be clearer. By 'a great deal' I mean I will pay you more money than you can possibly imagine."

"I don't know," Rowe's crossed his arms. "We can imagine quite a bit."

"We'll see."

Another compartment opened in the side of the crate, revealing a small, thin briefcase. Rowe took the initiative to open it,,, and he nearly had a heart attack upon seeing what was inside.

It was money, rows and rows of evenly spaced, incredibly valuable dollars. He could hardly believe it.

"That's our pay?"

Even garbled, it was hard to mistake the smugness in the voice's tone now. "That's your advance."

Rowe choked on nothing at all. "We could buy…"

"All the fish in Audubon Bay?" Quackerjack finished, getting increasingly giddy every second that money was in their possession. "A metric ton of spore mold? A lifetime supply of Silly String?!"

"The task itself requires resources." Now that it was satisfied it had its foot in the door, their mysterious contact began to elaborate. "Some of which I can and will provide. Some of which I cannot. You will also need a team of decent size."

"I don't know if you've been watching the news, mate," Rowe said snidely, or as snidely as one can while holding a fortune in their hands, "but the Fearsome Five is rather low on membership these days."

"I trust you will be able to overcome that handicap."

Rowe paused to think it over, but whatever he might have come up with was interrupted. Bushroot snatched the suitcase of his hands, strode to the empty space in the box's side and thrust the whole thing back into the hole. "Trust and twenty thousand will buy you a ride on every cab in Duckburg, but not with this load of criminal errand boys."

Rowe sent a longing look back to where the cash was stuffed, but after a moment's thought decided that Bushroot had the right idea and went back to ignoring the box's presence. Only Quackerjack remained enthusiastic.

"W-what?! Look at all that money! Guys?!"

Unlikely Quackerjack, the voice seemed to not care about this development. "I can see you will need some time to think over my offer." It said calmly, like it expected results regardless. "This 'box' will remain operative for one week and will open with the phrase… 'open.' After which I'm afraid I'll have to look elsewhere."

The speaker and camera began to retract into the box again. With a final "good day, gentlemen," it disappeared – leaving the remaining five apparently alone with the gigantic and nearly immovable eyesore.

As soon as contact was cut, Quackerjack whirled upon the others. His eyes were furious, beyond the mere disappointment he was prone to in the past. Usually, Rowe and Bushroot could handle him – but now they almost took a step back.

"Okay, fellas!" He shouted. "What the hell?!"

Rowe sneered and stood his ground. "Come on, Quackerjack! Don't tell me you trust that… whoever that was?"

"Obviously, but come on! That was a lot of cheddar, and it clearly wasn't going to stop there. We've worked for shifty people before. We're shifty people."

Rowe and Bushroot faltered, shuffling uncomfortably, which Quackerjack saw as invitation to keep up the tirade.

"Ever since Negaduck got carted off to the Negaverse, you two have lost your nerve. Don't think I haven't noticed, you staying in your own little corners walling in your little setbacks! 'Oh, she doesn't love me!' 'Oh, I'm so aloooone!' It's been boring!" He was just letting off steam now, and ignored the offended looks on his partners' faces at the unflattering imitations. "Why can't we go out and work through those feelings with a good-old fashioned bank robbery like the old days? Or, I dunno, by taking the perfect job?! It's what we do, remember?"

Bushroot turned away, sighing. "Is it?"

Quackerjack whipped his head to Bushroot, eyes bulging out of his head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno Quackerjack." Bushroot rubbed the back of his head, looking and feeling very awkward. "We lost Liquidator. Megavolt switched sides. NegaCrimson probably has too. And we're never going back to Negaduck. Maybe it's time we just… bowed out."

"You… what? Bow out?!"

"He's right, Quackie." Rowe groaned. "After all of that, crime just doesn't seem to have a point any more."

"Beats being pointless!"

Quackerjack's shout was so abrupt that Bushroot and Rowe really did jump this time, taken aback by the sudden fervor. But to their surprise, when Quackerjack continued talking he was calm – a total 180 degree turn, even from his normal demeanor.

"Rowe," he said. "Do you remember why you first joined the Five?"

Rowe blinked. "Me? Well, I… uh… huh… almost forgot about that." He scratched his head, trying to recall the exact details. "Let's see… I was ticked about the way surface folks treated the ocean, wasn't I? Wanted to get some revenge, save the seas. You know, mate: good intentions and all."

"Uh huh." Quackerjack raised an eyebrow. "And since then, have you ever once done anything to help the environment, even a little? Join a rally? Blow up a factory? Pick up litter?"

Rowe blinked. "I… no, I guess I haven't. Must've slipped my mind." His eyes narrowed "What's it to you, mate?"

"The whole reason you went bad in the first place, and you forgot it? You wanna know why?" He gestured for Rowe to come closer and started to whisper, as if it were some kind of secret. For his part, Rowe was too intrigued to immediately refuse. "Because you were too busy messing with people, that's why. Smashing and grabbing, and having the time of your life!"

Rowe furrowed his brow, for the moment listening as Quackerjack went on. "You're a guy that'd mess up anybody's day in search of a good time. You don't care about the ocean! You just care about living life on your terms, and sticking it to society all the way! Am I wrong?" Rowe opened his mouth to respond, but Quackerjack cut him off. "Of course not! Would you really go back to Neptunia and be some kind of crusader after all the fun you've had?"

Rowe was silent for a long time, considering what Quackerjack was trying to say. There was an inkling of truth in it – he did enjoy the hedonistic side of villainy. And he hadn't thought about Neptunia in what felt like years. Whether or not that included "messing with people" was a story for another day, but it did give him pause. When he finally replied it was clear he was still thinking, and so he only muttered. "Right, mate. You've made your point."

"He can be taught! And you, Bushy-"

"Don't even try it, Quackerjack." Bushroot said sharply. "You know very well I don't enjoy being a supervillain. I'd rather have never been one at all, but circumstances never allow me to stop."

"Oh that's right!" Quackerjack smirked. "You want a family! To be a successful mutant-plant duck with a picket fence and a place all your own where the world won't bug you!"

Bushroot scowled. He said nothing, but looks could kill a glare like his would have at least caused serious maiming.

Again ignoring the dirty look, Quackerjack continued. "You say that as if we don't all know that every time you are left alone, you're annoyed into making a scene anyway. Then it's back to marching armies of trees into the city." Bushroot gritted his teeth, irritated at his friend taking his past exploits out of context, but still refused to justify it with a response. Quackerjack, again, took silence as a sign to continue. "Deep down you know your experiments are too much for the world to handle. You don't want the world to handle you! I bet you could be making billions on grants and patents alone, but instead you prefer to steal cash and literally beat away the people trying to bother you with a stick. Or a branch. Or a trunk. Whatever."

"I don't hate the world, Quackerjack." Bushroot said, keeping his voice carefully even.

"No, but you have to admit you like batting it around a bit. So why deny it?"

"Deny?" Bushroot and Rowe shouted at the same time.

"Yes, deny. I'll admit both of you guys are a little soft hearted. Maybe I am too. So we've lost out on things we really wanted." He glanced at Rowe, a surprisingly soft and understanding look on his face. "So we have to face the fact that we can't be who we want to be." He glanced at Bushroot, who still nodded despite his clear annoyance. "But we can't just give up and go at it alone! So the world took stuff from us! We're villains! We take it back on our terms! We let Negaduck force us to do his bidding for too long. We had to – ugh – work with do-gooders to set it – double ugh – right. But that's shouldn't keep us from being who we are."

Rowe and Bushroot looked at each other.

"At least, it's not gonna keep me from being who I am." Quackerjack said, abruptly turning around. The others reached out in shock, but he ignored them yet again. He was already storming to the exit. "I'm gonna go wreak some havoc, with or without you. You wanna villain up and join in?" He opened the door, but didn't look back. "Be my guest..."

The door swung closed, with Quackerjack on the other side. But a second before it would have slammed shut for good, a shout rang out.

"Wait, mate!"

The door flew open again. "What?"

Bushroot sighed. "Wreaking havoc isn't cost effective. You're going to get yourself killed. You could at least have some sort of plan."

A slow grin spread across Quackerjack's face. "Does that mean you're in?"

Bushroot rolled his eyes. "On 'wreaking havoc?' No." Quackerjack's face fell. "But someone clearly has to keep you out of trouble."

Rowe nodded. "There's something to be said for doing wrong right, or vice versa. S'long as we're sticking together."

Quackerjack thought this over. With a shrug, he figured that it was at least close enough. "So we're taking the job, then?"

"Why not, mate?" Rowe chuckled, and cheerfully threw his arms around his companions. "I think we can handle trying out the villain thing on our own, at least for a while. Who knew: Quackerjack being the voice of inspiration."

"That's not inspiration," Bushroot droned. "That's well directed madness."

"Whatever works!" Quackerjack said with a smirk.

But Bushroot wasn't done. "This sentiment is all well and good, but it's still just the three of us. How are we supposed to make any headway?" Rowe faltered – this clearly hadn't occurred to him either. But Quackerjack was, once again, not bothered.

"Haven't you chuckleheads been watching the news?"

Bushroot shrugged – but while he typically locked himself in his lab and didn't interact with the outside world for days at a time, Rowe at least got out and watched tv every once in a while. He searched his memories for what Quackerjack meant. "Ah…" His eyes lit up. "He's right! Last I heard there ought to be criminals coming outta the woodwork these days."

It was true. Apparently, during his invasion Negaduck hadn't just seen fit to lord over the whole town, he also wanted to lord his ultimate victory over his would-be "rivals" in the villain game. His forces systematically broke into every prison in the area, kidnapping anyone who had made St. Canard's Most Wanted Charts. Some he left behind due to risk, like Nanite. Some were beyond his reach, like Moliarty. And some were rumored to have gotten away, like Dr. Slug. But in the end almost every villain who had ever fought Darkwing Duck ended up under his control.

As the stories went, whenever he was bored he would make them dance like puppets or simply kowtow to him in whatever over the top and humiliating way he thought up that day. This went on daily, over and over again until the day Negaduck was finally defeated. And once his mind control spell went down, all the criminals he kidnapped slipped away into the city free and clear.

There were probably more criminals on the streets now than before Darkwing first appeared. Authorities were hard at work trying to track them down, but with the disarray the town was in and the current relative inaction of the criminal element it was proving difficult to find anyone.

Which made this the perfect opportunity to do some recruiting.

"So all we need to do is find enough crooks to put a team together." Rowe mused. "How hard could it be, mate?"

"I've got it!" Quackerjack bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. "Let's hold-"

"Don't say it!"

"-auditions!"

Bushroot threw his face into his hands with a groan. "Is it too late to choose retirement?"

* * *

 _The Fearsome Five's Warehouse - Six Days Until The Offer Is Rescinded_

Bushroot's nervousness turned out to be well founded. Their interviews did not have the most… conventional of starts.

"F! E! A! R! Whose the fiercest team by far?"

There were probably stranger things than sitting through an extravagant cheer number dedicated to oneself but written by, directed by and starring a mutant half-frog, half-duck. But not many.

"S! O! M! E! Who're the crooks we want to be?"

The otherwise perfectly normal frog sitting with them on the nice clean desk they'd set up to look official was just the icing on the cake. Though it was perhaps even stranger that they all knew that frog by name.

This did not bode well for the rest of the interviews.

"Fearsome Five! Fearsome Five! Goooooo VILLAINS!"

Frogduck did a backflip and pirouette, landing on his knees for a big finish.

Keith - his faithful frog companion - burbled in response, which Frogduck took as raucous applause. He jumped to his feet (over-jumping and nearly bumping his head on the ceiling in the process) and started bowing dramatically, soaking in the imagined ovation.

The poor trio of villains witnessing all this just sat there for a moment, unsure of how exactly to respond..

Rowe was the first one to try. "Uh… that's was nice and all, mate, but… what does that have to do with…"

"Anything?" Quackerjack cut in.

Rowe glanced at him, but continued on. "… with what you would bring to the team?"

"Besides excellent dance choreography," Bushroot quipped. Quackerjack chuckled and nudged Bushroot's ribs.

"I think the coordination started to dip around the forty-five minute mark, myself."

Frogduck blinked. "Team? What team?"

"Uh…" Rowe faltered, cursing himself for letting himself fall into this. Conversations with Frogduck always seemed to end with everyone confused. "The team we called you here to join, mate? The actual Fearsome Five?"

"But there's only three of you."

Rowe's eye twitched. "That's not-"

"Wait!" Frogduck threw his hands up. Rowe relaxed – perhaps he had finally gotten the point. "So these aren't the auditions for Fearsome Five: The Musical?"

Quackerjack burst out laughing, mostly because it looked like a vein was about to pop out of Rowe's head. "The what!?" He slammed his head on the table, trying to ignore the obnoxious laughter coming from right beside him. "I swear, every time we work with this guy…"

He pushed himself off the desk and leaned forward, about to lay into Frogduck for wasting everybody's time. But before he could, Bushroot suddenly stood up and started clapping.

"Bravo, Frogduck! A wonderful performance!"

Confused, Rowe and Quackerjack lean in close to their comrade. "Uh, what are you doing, mate?" Rowe whispered so that Frogduck couldn't hear.

"Just clap with me." He replied. "If we don't we'll never get him out of here!"

Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see one of Bushroot's plants crawl out of its pot and open the door. Realizing what Bushroot had in mind, the other two reluctantly joined the act.

"Um… yeah. You were great, mate." Rowe said flatly. "We'll definitely consider you for the… er… 'part.' Whatever it is."

"Bravissimo! A thrilling performance!" Quackerjack said, in a parody of a formal voice. "Now go home!"

Frogduck actually swooned, with a blush that looked strange on his green skin. "I'm so flattered!" He bounded over to the desk and vigorously shook everyone's hand in turn, then picked up Keith the Frog and dropped him on his shoulder. "We did it Keith! We're in the big time!"

Another of Bushroot's plants rose behind Frogduck and started gently but steadily pushing him and Keith towards the exit.

"That's right!" Bushroot shouted cheerfully. "Wait for our call! Don't call us, we'll call you!" Quackerjack snorted. Bushroot nudged him, keeping up the fake smile.

Oblivious to the obvious insincerity, Frogduck took another gracious bow as he slipped out of the room. "I just want to thank you all for giving me this opportunity!" He cried. "Especially you, mate!" He added, pointing to Rowe.

The vein in Rowe's head was back. "I ain't your-" Bushroot clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting off his retort before it could keep Frogduck from leaving.

"Okay, thank you! Bye now!" Bushroot said. Frogduck opened his mouth to say something else, but he had crossed the threshold into the hallway. Bushroot's plant promptly slammed the door in his face.

All three of them slid down into their seats, groaning loudly.

"Tell me the rest of them won't be that bad…" Rowe said, a bit muffled by the way his hand was smacking his face.

"P'shaw!" Quackerjack scoffed, waving it off with his usual disregard. "Surely there's at least a few villains in this town who can wow us!"

* * *

 _Later…_

"You guys really are the tops, I ever tell you that?"

"Only a half dozen times since you sat down, Swenlin." Bushroot sighed in exasperation.

"Or do you prefer Cementhead?" Quackerjack added.

Cementhead threw his arms out, almost as if he were inviting his interviewers to give him some kind of chummy hug. An intimidating gesture, given that he likely weighed nearly a ton. "I prefer whatever gets cash in our collective pocket faster, my friends! I'm a team player, see? And you boys've got the makin's of a real force, you know that?"

"Our pleasure, mate." Rowe said flatly. "And we can get a lot of use out of a half-ton powerhouse like you?"

Cementhead chuckled to himself. "Oh, I'm more than just muscle my friend!" He flexed one of his arms for irony's sake, but there didn't seem to be any actual offense behind his schmoozing. "I've got leadership skills! You guys're a little lacking in that department, if you don't mind me saying so…"

Three pairs of eyes glared in his direction. "… we kind of do, actually…"

"It's not that you're not well run, o' course not!" He put his hands up in a mock-"surrender" gesture. "It's more that you need a strong hand to get you to that 'next level,' if you catch my drift. I got that kinda insight."

"Let me get this straight…" Bushroot said incredulously. He gestured to one of his plants, who opened the door ahead of time just in case. "you want to be our new leader!"

"So you agree! Excellent! When do I start?"

A second passed while they processed this.

Then Quackerjack leapt out of his seat and tried in vain to yank the several hundred pound behemoth towards the door. "… we'll call you." He grunted. "Try not to chip any blocks on the way out!"

"Y'sure? Cause I could talk to you guys for hours. You've got those intelligent kinds o' faces, I ever tell you th-"

"NEXT!"

* * *

 _One Threat of Chiseling Later,_

"… so you see, thanks to my past experience as a news reporter my expertise lies in getting the right information in and making sure the details we want get out." The latest candidate was dressed to success. None of them could remember ever seeing anyone show up to a villain's hideout in a proper business suit, unless one counted Negaduck and Darkwing's odd fashion choices.

She was very proper about it, as well – polite, courteous, and informative. She had actually brought a resume, which was incredibly convenient. But then, Bianca Beakley had always been a savvy negotiator, even back in her reporting days. "With my skills your team could handle intel in a way no other gang is smart enough to consider. Plus I make a very charismatic front, if I do say so myself."

"That's very impressive, Ms. Beakley," Bushroot said appraisingly. "I can see why you thought you would be an asset to our team."

"Even if you did spend the last decade in jail," Quackerjack snickered.

Beakley reddened slightly. "Eight years! I didn't spend all of it in jail. Some of it I spent… er… minimum security."

Rowe, the only one present who had never been on either end of a proper job interview in his life, laughed boorishly. "A luxury prison? Nice, mate…"

Beakley caught the three of them smirking at her, and realized that this probably didn't do much about her villain cred.

"Until I got caught trying to escape!" She blurted out, trying to spin.

Quackerjack laughed again. "Oops!"

"And now you're here. Go fig, mate!" Rowe crossed his arms, but looked interested. "So, when do we get to see that bug suit, with the wings and the weird eye things?" He had not been around when the Bugmaster first attacked St. Canard, but it seemed like an interesting gimmick. He was rather excited about seeing it.

Beakley rubbed the back of her head, looking even more embarrassed. "Well… I… uh… you see, when Darkwing foiled me the first time, I sort of lost my old effects."

"So why not just build some new gear?" Bushroot asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "Put together a new suit?"

Like the thread that pulls apart the knot, Beakley sensed her professional presentation was on the cusp of unraveling. "You see, I only picked the 'Bugmaster' idea the one time, because it was convenient!" She stammered. Her voice suddenly got high pitched and quick. "I never thought I'd end up keeping it, even after I got caught. So I… uh… never bothered to remember how the gadgets worked. Then getting out of jail proved a little harder than I thought…"

Three sets of unimpressed eyes stared at her.

"So I focused on keeping my ears to the ground!" She threw out quickly. "I'm a treasure trove of priceless information!" She pulled out her resume, which included a list of interesting details she was willing to share. But the look on their faces told them this would likely not be enough. "A-and I've been working on a new identity! One that's a lot more befitting. It just takes a while to work out the kinks…"

"It's been how many years now?"

"Hey!" She shouted in offense. "The perfect supervillain moniker isn't something that just comes to you!"

Quackerjack leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. "I literally came up with all this in a minute in a half."

Bushroot grimaced, remembering his start. "Mine just kind of fell in my lap."

Rowe just shrugged. "I don't even have one."

Beakley deflated. "Everyone's a critic," she sighed.

"Next!" Bushroot shouted, though on a more personal note he added. "But if we need someone to crunch data, we'll let you know."

* * *

 _Later Still,_

The next interview found the three huddled behind their desk as a cavalcade of unlikely but all equally dangerous projectiles flew about the room. Their warehouse, which had never been the most pristine of hideouts, now resembled a warzone… that is, if one were fighting a war with the most unusual ammo you had ever seen.

"Woohoo!" Quackerjack laughed. He caught a flying pie out of the air and took a bite. "I love this guy!"

Rowe and Bushroot ignored him. "Who is this guy?" Rowe shouted, ducking a kitchen sink (plus garbage disposal).

"Uh…" Bushroot stammered, leafing through his notes as an actual live great white shark went sailing over their heads. "Anthony Carmichael! Says here he was a baseball pitcher who went nuts and – AGH – started throwing stuff at people for money!"

"He does know we're on his side, right?"

"Uh…"

Quackerjack continued to laugh. "I dunno what you guys are so tense about! This is f-"

"Shut up, Quackerjack!" Rowe and Bushroot yelled at the same time.

Everyone froze as a very large, very ominous flashing object flew past them and embedded itself into the closest wall.

"Ooh, hey!" Quackerjack said, recognizing the blinking projectile from one of Negaduck's old Christmas wishlists. "That's one of those old timey WW2 torpedoes! Like in the movies!"

"A what?!" Rowe gasped. "Where in the seven seas did he get one of those?!"

"WHO CARES?" Bushroot shouted, already heading for the door. "RUUUUUUN!"

* * *

 _One Hasty Retreat and Extensive Repair Job Later,_

"-sssso you ssssee," said the hissing voice of their current interviewee. Camille, the Chameleon, looked slightly uncomfortable in her chair – the thermostat was on the fritz – but no less confident. "I'm really quite the… versssatile lizard. I can do anything at all you boysss want me to do. And maybe even more than that, I'd sssay…"

"I see. And so eager too! Why do you want to join us?" Rowe said, a little giddy to have an applicant that didn't immediately look like a mistake. "Seems like as long as you avoid Darkwing you can get away with whatever you want, mate."

"True. But to tell the truth, I'm lonely. It's a sssad life, being me." She turned to Bushroot, and the gleam of adoration twinkled into her eyes. "At leassst, until I heard about you!"

Bushroot blinked. "Uh. me?"

"Of courssse!" She stood up and sauntered over to the trio's table. They were too stunned to stop her. "Sssuch a brilliant mind, wrapped up in that handsssome floral package. Girls like me jussst love flowersss, you know." She leaned in, reaching for his bright lavender hair. Bushroot slid back, his eyes bugging out of his head. "Especially you, the lovely ssstamen to my pissstil."

Bushroot looked as thought someone had clocked him in the head with a brick. Quackerjack started laughing. "B-b-whaaa?!"

"Ssssurely you can sssee it! Me, a mutant lizard-duck. You, a mutant plant-duck!" She leapt over the table and started closing the distance between them. "We were made for each other. Just wait and sssee!"

Quackerjack, though starting to laugh, figuring he ought to at least make a token effort to stop this before Bushroot started molting. Rowe gripped his arm and pulled him back to his seat, shushing him. "Wait a tick, mate. We can't look away now!" He stared at the scene as if it were a train wreck, or an unfolding disaster. With a shrug and a giggle, Quackerjack leaned back in his chair and watched along with him.

Meanwhile, Bushroot scrambled out of his chair, holding it in front of him like a lion tamer facing a rampaging beast.

Camille continued to coo at him, undeterred by his obvious panic. "I can ssso sssee myself, resting in your soft leaves and sssoaking in the afternoon sssun together. What a perfect ecological pair we would make!" She made no attempt to get past the chair – she only puckered up and blew him a kiss.

Bushroot was beyond words: "aaaaaaaa-"

Quackerjack laughed so hard that he, too, fell out of his chair. "Ha! I think you broke Bushroot!"

"Oh." She pulled back with a pout. "Ssso sssad. I didn't mean to ssstartle my petite little horticultural hunk-"

"NEXT!" Bushroot suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs. "Better yet, recess!" He stammered. Before the others could react, he had already leapt over the table and was well on his way down the hallway. "Bye!"

The others watched him go, his comrades with more than a little amusement. "You heard the man, mate." Rowe chuckled under his breath. "Sorry, it doesn't look like Bushy's quite mature enough for a relationship just yet. Snrk."

"He's really just a big baby!" Quackerjack laughed as he led Camille to the door.

"Aww…"

* * *

 _Another Hasty Retreat Later,_

After Bushroot returned – once he could prove Camille was safely miles away from the building – and swore the others to never speak of that again, the auditions continued.

Such as they were, anyway.

"I don't get it…" Rowe said, after about thirty minutes of waiting. "Wasn't Dr. Slug supposed to be here by now?"

"Yeah," Quackerjack shrugged. "But that guy never shows up to anything."

"I guess we should feel lucky he merely didn't show up." Bushroot said. "Last time Negaduck tried to send him an olive branch, he sent us a bomb in response. Granted, Negaduck was trying to ambush him too. Those guys didn't like each other."

Rowe gulped. "Well, mates… in that case… next?"

"Next."

* * *

 _Yet Another Overused Hard Cut Gag Later - Four Days Until Deadline_

Looking back on it, none of them would be able to tell exactly how Tuskernini got past the interview stage – let alone how he finagled a "field test." Bushroot would claim that they had trusted his prior experience would give them better results in person. Rowe would blame his charismatic air and earnest enthusiasm. Quackerjack insists that they were just bored.

Either way, they lived to regret it.

"I don't like this…" Quackerjack whined, tugging at the hem of his dress.

"You don't say, mate?" Rowe grumbled, his irritated glare almost invisible under several pounds of clown makeup. "I thought you loved this sort of thing. Didn't you and Megavolt used to dress up like stupid stuff all the time?"

"Don't mention that name to me!" Quackerjack barked. "And it was only funny when he got the embarrassing costumes!"

Embarrassing was right. With the heavy-duty clown makeup and over the top jester outfit – even by Quackerjack standards – Rowe looked like something out of an overenthusiastic children's book. Meanwhile, Quackerjack was stuck with a long, frilly dress and an obviously fake blonde wig. Here they were, sitting in front of a bank just waiting to be robbed, and they were almost too humiliated to move.

"Oh sure, choose now to throw a fit about this." Bushroot sighed. With his numbered letterman jacket and his floral "hair" slicked up, he looked like the picture of a 50's all-American jock. He supposed it was less ridiculous than either of his comrades, but he wasn't particularly happy with the change in attire either.

"So," he said, directing his eyes to their giddy would-be director, "what's the point of all this, again?"

"The scene is simple!" Tuskernini said with a theatrical flair. He was hefting a film camera around with him, which made the others nervous. The last thing they wanted was physical proof that they had done this. "A staple of the horror genre. We pan down to the young damsel and her roguish but dimwitted beau, as the hideous monster clown prepares to eviscerate them!" He pointed to the bank, whose denizens would soon bear witness to this ridiculous farce. "As our audience witnesses what seems to be a moment of inhuman terror, they will certainly flee! Leaving the bank clear for us to empty of cash! Brilliant, if I do say so myself!"

"Okay…" Rowe said slowly. "So… in that case, mate, wouldn't it make more sense for him to be the clown?" He jabbed his finger to Quackerjack, who stuck out his tongue.

Tuskernini shrugged. "I despise typecasting."

"Plus, do you really want to be the damsel instead?" Bushroot quipped.

"Actually, I was thinking-"

"Alright, Tuskernini!" Came a new voice. "Give yourself up peacefully and… what the?"

Bushroot slapped his forehead. "Ohhh, this isn't happening."

Filling with dread, the group looked up to find Launchpad McQuack and Techno had gotten the drop on them while they were grousing. The two were geared up and clearly arrived ready for a fight, but now they were were frozen as they took in the sight of the assorted baddies and their absurd outfits. The two looked from Quackerjack and Rowe, to Tuskernini, to the facepalming Bushroot over and over again, as though they couldn't process what was going on in front of them.

Well, at least it wasn't Darkwing himself…

"Whoa, I've heard of Villains on Parade," Launchpad said shakily, "but… heh… this is ridiculous… heh hehahaha!" He burst into relentless giggles, doubling over and falling to the ground as they became too much for him to stand up straight.

Techno hovered down to the ground, trying to focus on the situation at hand. "Come on, Lauchpad. It's not… that… snrk…" Unfortunately for his self control, he got a good look at Quackerjack's pouting face as he yanked at his dress' many ribbon. He collapsed against a nearby lamppost, laughing uncontrollably and banging his gloves against the metal pole.

"Our enemies are incapacitated!" Tuskernini shouted. Which, admittedly, was one way of looking at the situation. "This is our time to… hey! Where are you going?"

He looked up to find that Rowe, Bushroot and Quackerjack were already leaving.

"Yeah... this has officially gone too far." Bushroot said, without looking back.

Quackerjack ripped off his dress – revealing his jester costume underneath - and tossed it over his shoulder. "You're on your own, Tuckerninny!"

They quickly hurried into an alley, where hopefully no one could see them. As they disappeared, Rowe could be heard muttering. "I wonder if we just act like this never happened, everyone'll just forget all about it…"

Tuskernini shook his fist at their retreating forms. "Ugh! Actors! Always so tempermental…" A pair of shadows loomed in front of him, making him jump in surprise. Evidently Techno and Launchpad were not as "incapacitated" as they seemed. "And that's not even mentioning the critics!"

He moved to defend himself, but before he could a pair of handcuffs were slapped upon his wrists. They retracted instantly into tight binds, cutting of any further acts of villainy.

"I… heh… think that's enough shooting for one day… hahaha… Tuskernini," Techno declared as heroically as he could, which admittedly wasn't much when one was still fighting back giggles.

"That takes care of him!" Lauchpad grinned. "Just leaves the Fearsome Threesome! Shouldn't be too hard to spot in those- hey! Where'd they go?"

The two heroes looked up, only just realizing that the source of their laughter was gone. Quickly hooking Tuskernini to a tree, they split up and searched the area – but it was no use. It didn't take long for them to conclude that the other villains had since vanished without a trace.

"Ah, Crimson's gonna kill me!" Techno groaned. "I never got a chance to take a picture!"

* * *

 _One Costume-Incineration and Promise-Never-To-Speak-Of-It-Again Later - Three Days until Deadline_

"Okay, mates. Yesterday was a fiasco." Rowe growled. The desk was set up again, but he was starting to lose his patience for the whole thing. "But after that I need one good interview. Just one good interview. So… moniker and powers, plea- hey!"

He paused as he saw the nervous-looking woman Quackerjack had led into the room. "Who are you, mate?" He shouted. She didn't answer at first, so he turned to Quackerjack. "Who is she, mate?"

"Search me!" Quackerjack shrugged. "I found her skulking about the lair. Figured she got lost on the way here."

The woman chuckled sheepishly. "Um… yeah! I'm a new villain in town! I'm answered the ad? About the villain teamup? That you advertised?"

"… no, you didn't!" Bushroot said flatly. "I recognize you!"

"Oh, darn."

"You're that reporter from the news! Bloomis, or something…"

"It's Plumis!" She said indignantly. Then she froze, realizing her mistake. "Or at least it would be, if that were my name. Which it's not…" She saw the cold looks directed at her and sighed. "This isn't fooling anybody, is it?"

"No, not really."

Rowe sighed. Clearly his wish would not be granted today. "Okay, fine. I'm not even going to ask how you got in here. What is it that you want?"

"You're trying to hire supervillains! The public deserves to know why! Plus, you three are – or at least were - heroes of the rebellion against Negaduck. Your stories are an important piece of the larger narrative! I'd be honored to get our side of things… maybe with an exclusive interview?"

"Exclusive, you say?" Rowe rubbed his chin, thinking of the lavish luxuries a little tv fame could bring. "I kinda like the sound of that, mate. Course, we'd need a little confidentiality. Maybe we could be in charge of editing."

Quackerjack nodded. "As archvillains, we have to keep our privacy after all."

"Plus," Bushroot said pointedly. "We could always use a little positive spin. Perhaps a promise not to go blabbing about the whole 'building a team' thing?"

"You're building a team?" She gasped. "That's interesting…" Rowe and Quackerjack glared at Bushroot, who recoiled sheepishly. "However, for an exclusive like this it'd be up to the network what does and doesn't get released. And…" she winced, knowing that what she was about to say would not go over well. "I'm afraid it would… er… go against my journalistic integrity not to-"

"Yeah, okay mate. No dice." Rowe said flippantly. "Bushroot, if you'd do the honors?"

Plumis only got out a quick "bwaah!" as she was suddenly lifted off her chair by gigantic vines and unceremoniously tossed out of the window.

"Whoa!" Quackerjack chuckled. "Hardcore!"

Bushroot rolled his eyes. "She'll be fine. We're on the bottom floor."

Rowe banged his head on the desk. "I quit, mate. We've only got a few days left before the guy in the box rescinds his offer, and we can't even find a few measly cohorts."

"You sound like Negaduck."

"Don't you compare me to-"

"No… he's right. We've been thinking about this just like Negaduck. Trying to get a bunch of thugs we can boss around, with powers we can exploit. But… that's not us."

"It's not." Bushroot nodded, nonchalantly pushing Quackerjack off of him. "Or at least it shouldn't be."

"I guess so. No more minioning for us."

"Exactly! We're not an attack squad, and we're nobody's henchmen. We want to be free villains? Let's be free villains." The others looked at him, slowly trying to process onto what he was getting at. "I have an idea about how to fix our problem. Maybe even all of our problems. Bring up our list of applicants."

Bushroot began sifting through his now gigantic stack of notes. "I think I know what you're getting at," he said with a growing smile. "And I think I've got just what you need."

"Well let me in on the gag, would ya?" Quackerjack whined, stomping his foot on the ground like a child.

Rowe smirked at him. "Just play along, Quackie. You'll catch up. But we've got a few calls to make. There's one person especially who I know will want to know about this…"

* * *

 _One Day Before the Deadline, Darkwing Tower_

The view from the Audubon Bay Bridge was shaping up quite nicely in the time since Negaduck's defeat. The City of St. Canard was almost indistinguishable from the lively metropolis it had been before the invasion – in fact, the remaining atmosphere, like the air itself had still not quite forgotten from recent disaster, seemed to give the fair burg an added sense of dignity.

Or at least, that's the way it looked to St. Canard's resident hero. Looking upon his city was one of Darkwing Duck's favorite pastimes, especially now.

Repairs on the Tower were long since done. The Thunderquack, the Ratcatcher, and the Avenger were all ready for action. The city, for once, was calm - except perhaps when they were cheering their conquering heroes. Darkwing particularly enjoyed that part. But there was still work to be done. Things were changing all over, and he had to be ready. As much as it pained him, these changes also meant that for the first time in a long while Darkwing would be doing much of that work on his own – without SHUSH, unless he absolutely had to. It was a daunting prospect, but then again most of the challenges a crimefighter had been of the larger-than-life variety. One more wouldn't kill him.

At least, he hoped it wouldn't.

A voice interrupted his musing. And luckily, it was one of his favorite voices in the entire world.

"Hey Dad! Where're you hiding?"

He looked down below to see his one and only daughter, Gosalyn Mallard, looking for him. She was wearing her Crimson Avenger outfit – similar to his own, in red and black – but she had forgone the hat and mask as usual while not patrolling. Unlike him, she wasn't a fan of being completely decked out in heroic gear all the time.

Even in the safety and privacy of the hideout, Darkwing wasn't 100% in agreement with losing the precaution, but he supposed she had earned the right to be casual. She had more than proven that she had vigilance.

The years had been tough on his little girl – though not so little any more – and she had spent far more years without him than he would ever be comfortable with. But to see her now: she was the heroine that saved the entire city (not to mention himself, multiple times), a young woman with her life ahead of her, the very picture of spirit and justice with potential that easily surpassed his own – not that he would ever tell her that. Just looking at her made him prouder than he had ever felt before.

He was so busy swelling with pride that he almost didn't hear what she was saying. "Hello? Dad? Honker wants us all to pool what we've got together!"

With a start, he realized that he had been out here for longer than he intended. Hadn't he just been musing that he had work to do? There would no doubt be time for wistful views later (although, he supposed, there never seemed to be a "later"). Now was time for action… or, more accurately, paperwork.

Gosalyn didn't so much as flinch as he suddenly swooped in from nowhere and landed directly in front of her. "I know, I know," He said, dusting himself off. "Just enjoying the view."

"You're taking a break?" She tilted her head, sporting with a familiar smirk. "You? The workaholic?"

"What, I can't enjoy a picturesque panorama of my scenic city every now and then?"

"I guess not," she shrugged. "But believe it or not I want to get this over with while we still have daylight. I do have finals coming up."

Darkwing pretended to scoff. "You want to study?" He said, copying her grin. "You? The consummate slacker?"

She faked a scowl. "It's easy to steal jokes, dad." She grumbled.

"Just taking back what you inherited." He said lightly. He turned towards the center of the hideout, where his supercomputer and a table full of paperwork were surely waiting. Gosalyn immediately matched his pace. "Come on," he said, changing gears, "I want to take a crack at that data too."

"Jokes aside, I'd really rather be out there patrolling." Gosalyn said.

"Me too. We've been hitting the streets far too scarcely these days. I feel like a cook who left his oven running. I'll turn around and the city will be on fire." Gosalyn nodded, knowing exactly how he felt. She probably knew the feeling better than he did lately – it was her, and not him, who had almost singlehandedly kept the city's defenders from falling apart during the invasion. "But really, it's the other way around."

"Yeah…" She replied. "I don't think I'll ever get used to St. Canard being… safe."

"While it lasts. Usually I'd say something big is brewing, but against all odds it's seems like it's just quiet out there. It'd get me stir crazy if not for the…"

"Constant adoration?" There was a snide accusation in that response he didn't like.

"Reassurance from the public!" He corrected testily. "You know the mayor's eating this all up!" It was true, Mayor Kim had on more than one occasion asked the heroes of St. Canard to his office simply to gush about their good work and the effect it was having on the city. They had each been given more medals than they could actually wear. "He's the one who requested the fewer patrols. Says the sight of us hunting down crime might scare away the recovering tourist trade. Which, you know, means less people to take part in major city events!"

Gosalyn raised an eyebrow. "I know. I was there when he said it. I'm just not sure when things like that beat out doing our job."

They had finally reached the center. As they approached, Launchpad immediately chimed into their conversation.

"Probably since they started throwing parades in our honor!" Launchpad laughed, waving like they hadn't only been gone for a few minutes, tops. Darkwing averted his eyes and mumbled a lame denial under his breath. Launchpad was a far better partner than Darkwing could ever ask for, but the years had made him just a mite too perceptive.

"Hello, Darkwing," Honker Muddlefoot said slowly, from his seat at the supercomputer. He lifted his head for brief moment to nod politely, then turned back to logging data. "We were waiting for you."

Darkwing chuckled to himself: some things never changed.

Honker was another kid Darkwing couldn't help but feel pride for, almost like one of his own. The boy had come a long way from his nervous, nebbish roots. As the Crimson Avenger's sidekick Techno he had saved all of their lives countless times, and there was no one he trusted more to watch his little girl's back. Granted, the two were getting closer than he was completely comfortable with lately, but he was fighting down the urge to do something about that just yet.

"Sorry about the delay!" He walked over so that he was standing behind Honker with a clear view of the screen. "What have we got so far?"

"Very little we don't already know. Negaduck's forces are all cleared out, they've all either run to their own universes or have been remanded to SHUSH or UIO custody. Though it's not unreasonable to assume that some still remain hiding on the streets, there's not enough to be an actual threat. And it's unlikely that anyone from this universe would show them hospitality."

"Fair enough." He ticked that off the mental checklist, at least for now. "But there are other threats. Anything rear its ugly head while we were… focused on other things."

Gosalyn glanced at him, and he realized with a start that she had been right next to him the entire time. "That's an odd way of saying 'fighting for the survival of our entire universe.'" She quipped, though he could see she was as focused as he was.

"And nothing much, DW," Launchpad said. He was looking over a list of reports from outside St. Canard. Some rather far outside. "No international problems have made headlines, and neither The Agency nor any of our friendly alien pals have anything major on their plate."

"One crisis at a time, huh?" Gosalyn chuckled. "Funny how that always works out."

"I don't know. Seems like when it rains, it pours here in St. Canard." Darkwing said shrewdly. "There has to be something awry. Anything unaccounted for? And what about the missing crooks?"

Unsurprisingly, he and his team had been on the jailbreak situation since almost immediately after the war had been won. Mopping up this particular mess of Negaduck's was not proving easy. Like roaches, the various criminals had scurried to shadowy safety almost immediately.

"Well... to answer your first question, it seems that there's a tiny... er…" Honker paused. He glanced at Gosalyn, looking slightly apologetic. "… multiversal discrepancy. At least one of our less-than-trustworthy multiversal allies is not entirely accounted for." He stopped again, this time with a wince. "In particular, the Darkwarrior version of Gosalyn."

Darkwing caught Gosalyn's eye, but she had less of a reaction than he expected. She still looked as surprised, no doubt, but perhaps she had partially expected this. "And what does 'not entirely accounted for' mean?"

Launchpad shrugged. "Maybe she hitched a ride with someone else?"

Gosalyn hummed, rubbing her chin in thought. "It's possible... but I doubt it. None of the other doubles had any reason to stay here, so they all went home no problem." She stopped, and her expression darkened as she thought of her remaining double. "Darkwarrior II is another story. She's probably not going to start hunting us for revenge again, so she has nothing keeping her here, but… remember what she said, about being a fugitive back home?"

"You would know better than us." Said Honker.

Gosalyn nodded, continuing her explanation. "Seems she killed her Launchpad and Agent Mia – Director Gingevere of SHUSH, there – in a vengeful rage after they took down her father's empire. I don't know if she would've done the same thing now if she were able to repeat it, but she's probably Public Enemy #1 there. She can't go back home. And she probably has just as little to look forward to anywhere else."

Darkwing groaned. "So she's probably here."

"Or in the Negaverse."

"Hopefully she'll keep laying low." Launchpad said hopefully.

"I don't know about that." Honker said, with a tiny smirk. "She _is_ a Gosalyn."

Everyone around the table, even Gosalyn herself, snorted.

Darkwing pushed his humor down for a moment. "I notice you didn't answer my question about the missing crooks."

"That's because we still have very little." Honker replied, sounding much like he was getting tired of this conversation. "Most criminals in this city are keeping out of trouble for the time being, especially the ones Negaduck let out of prison."

"I don't blame them. Free, after what Negaduck put them through?" Launchpad mused. "You know, I hear he made Ammonia Pine mud-wrestle the filthiest demons Negarian could conjure up every single night."

"I head that too!" Gosalyn said. "Seems she practically begged to be locked up again after all that, provided they gave her a private shower with 24/7 access."

Darkwing sighed. "If only the rest were so easy to catch."

"At least they're unlikely to cause further trouble for a while, unless something or someone makes them."

Gosalyn glanced at their analyst. "Is that your roundabout way of bringing up the Fearsome Five, Honk? Or what's left of them…"

"You mean Bushroot, Quackerjack and Rowe?" Darkwing asked, catching on. "That… I'm not so sure about."

"They seemed so… well… not dangerous last time we saw them." Launchpad said. "Kinda like they were lost."

Darkwing turned over the small amount of info they had on the Five's activities, tutting to himself. "Looks like they found themselves again, if the rumors about them trying to hire other supervillains are true."

"It seems that way." Honker said, turning completely away from the screen for the first time. "Remember, Launchpad and I ran across them with Tuskernini of all people. They were disguised, but it was definitely them."

Gosalyn suddenly punched him on the arm. It was meant to be a light jab, but he still flinched as if it hurt. "I'm still mad you didn't get me any pictures!" She grinned cheekily. "I mean, Quackerjack in a dress?"

Honker rubbed the spot where she punched him, pouting slightly. "Stranger things have happened."

"True." Darkwing quipped. "I once saw him in a suit and tie." He looked down at his files, and sighed. "Still, I was hoping they would find themselves on the side of right."

"Just like Megavolt?"

There was a pause. Darkwing nodded. "And NegaGos, yes. We may be having some peace and quiet now, but..." he sighed. "We could use all the allies we can get."

"Not everyone turns out the same way, DW," Launchpad said, patting his hand against his friend's shoulder. "Simple fact of life. Just look at me and my family. Why, I've got about a dozen-"

What would have likely been a very long and involved anecdote was suddenly cut off, as a loud klaxon echoed through the hideout.

"Proximity alert!" Honker cried. The computer's monitor split into a dozen smaller screens, each showing different camera views.

Both father and daughter jumped up in stereo. "Who is it!? What is it!? An attack!?"

Honker looked closely at the footage, trying to make out the approaching shape. "It's… " He leaned back with a gasp, though for once not a frantic one. "Eek! Or Squeak! Er… one of Morgana's familiars. I can't tell which." He winced apologetically. Despite the tense mood, Gosalyn chuckled. On the screen, a tiny bat could be clearly seen, panting heavily as it lugged along an envelope almost as big as it was. "He seems to be carrying some kind of… letter."

He pressed a button, and the beleaguered bat was let inside unhindered. It carried itself to the table and promptly collapsed, the letter fluttering down beside him.

Darkwing sprung to action. "Is Morgana in trouble!?" He shouted, zipping first to monitor, then to the window as the bat fluttered in and collapsed on the nearnest table. "Is that some kind of warning message?"

"Not so soon after Bob!" Launchpad cried, a sentiment shared by all of them. Darkwing and Morgana hadn't dated in years, but that didn't mean she wasn't family. And with everything she had sacrificed during the invasion, including the loss of her husband's life, no one wanted to see her suffer any further.

But Eek shook its head no, and started tittering away in unintelligible bat-speak. It seemed rather intent on getting their attention on the envelope instead of him, but in their concern it was being ignored.

Gosalyn gently pushed her father out of the way so she could talk to their little visitor. Of the group, she was the only one that had any real experience dealing with Morgana's familiars, or familiars in general in truth.

The bat burbled something personal, which Gosalyn immediately understood. "It's Eek!" She shouted. "But it's a false alarm. I… guess..." She made a sign for the others to abandon battle stations, and then leaned in to make sure she heard Eek better. As he continued to elaborate, her attention turned to the envelope.

"Someone dropped this off at her manor. For us. She checked it over, but it didn't seem dangerous. Just… weird."

"Weird, huh?" Launchpad shrugged. "Well, as long as it's not dangerous, might as well see what it is." Before anyone could stop him, he picked up the envelope and began tearing it open.

"Wait!" Everyone shouted, but it was too late. Launchpad had already torn open the top, and once he did the letter began to spark and flash. Everyone but Launchpad hit the deck, expecting some kind of titanic explosion.

What they got instead was some confetti and canned fanfare.

Crimson poked her head out from under a desk. "Uh… what?"

"Hey, it's like a parade!" Launchpad said. He picked up some of the falling confetti. "Nice!"

"Launchpad!" Darkwing shouted. "You can't just open up a suspicious letter like that?"

"What? Morgana said it wasn't dangerous!"

"What if she had only checked for magical dangers? This could have easily be… I dunno, horribly radioactive confetti!"

"Darkwing," Honker noted, "if this were radioactive I'm sure our sensors would have…" He faltered as Darkwing turned his glare on him. "… never mind, forget I said anything…"

Gosalyn groaned, seeing that this wasn't going to go anywhere constructive. "Look, let's just read the thing. Or are we not going to follow the obvious clue?"

TO DARKWING DUCK AND HIS MILDEWING FRIENDS!

IN CELEBRATION FOR YOUR YEARS OF SERVICE, WE THE PROUD MEMBERS OF YOUR ADVERSARIAL POOL DO HEREBY INVITE YOU TO A CELEBRATION IN YOUR HONOR. THERE PROMISES TO BE REFRESHMENTS, ACCOLADES, AND A SHOCKING TWIST THAT WILL LEAVE YOU SPEECHLESS!

NO RSVP NECESSARY. WE ONLY ASK THAT YOU COME ALONE. WITH EACH OTHER. YOU GET THE IDEA: NO COPS.

COME PROMPTLY AT EIGHT UNLESS YOU PLAN TO BE LATE, MATE! (in the margins, Quackerjack had doodled himself saying "Rowe let me get away with that!")

REGARDS, DIPWING!

THE FEARSOME FIVE*

On the other side of the invitation was written an address and a time to arrive – only a paltry few hours into the future.

Launchpad tilted his head. "They're still calling themselves the Fearsome Five? Aren't there only, like, three of them?"

"Oh yeah, because that's what important here."

"Besides, they addressed that." Honker said. He pointed to a tiny blurb on the edge of the letter. "See?"

Indeed, under the main message was a small note:

(*) WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW?

"Huh."

"Well, I've got nothing to do tonight." Crimson said, stretching her arms out in a way far more casual than an ominous invitation would usually make a person. In the years she had spent dealing with these sorts of situations, it could be said that she had grown a strong sense of when and where a problem required intensity.

Unlike her father, who had little middle ground between "unconcerned" and "intense as the sun."

"How can you be so flippant! This is obviously a trap!"

"Of course it's a trap, Dad!" She rolled her eyes, though her stare belied the maturity that came from age and experience. "The question is, are we just going to let it lie? It's also our only lead on what the Five is up to. And I for one don't think those three are the kind to just turn around and murder us right after everything we went through!"

"Perhaps, but the situation requires at least some gravitas."

"I know that! But now isn't the time to go into overdrive. We barely know anything about whatever the heck this is in the first place, but you know you already decided to spring the trap the moment you read that. Don't deny it."

Darkwing turned red. "Hey! Darkwing Duck does not deny anything!"

Gosalyn, Honker and Launchpad glanced at one another.

"Riiiight."

Honker ventured to change the subject. "So, we're going. That much is clear." Darkwing and Gosalyn eyed each other, Gosalyn with a noticeable smirk. "So what about backup?" Techno continued. "The Five has always been a serious issue in the past. Even without Negaduck's resources or ambitions, those three could pose a surprising danger. Especially if we're walking in blind."

"That's… admittedly less of a clear cut issue." Darkwing sighed. "In the past, we had SHUSH."

"We still have SHUSH, DW," Launchpad said, though they all already knew what Darkwing was referring to. His expression was surprisingly frank.

"You know what I mean." Darkwing said. "In the past, we had Hooter."

"So there's a new boss in town. Hooter's retirement was a big loss, but that doesn't mean we can't trust that new Director, Navis." Launchpad said hopefully. Darkwing almost sighed again. He knew that whatever Launchpad was saying, what he was really thinking of was SHUSH Agent Mia Gingevere – a usual ally to Team Darkwing in many ways. The two of them had become rather close to, and the sudden, mutual distrust between the two groups was trying for both of them.

"I'm just…" Darkwing started, fishing for the right way to say this. "I'm not sure. Don't get me wrong, I don't think she's evil or anything. She's dedicated to justice, you can tell that just by hearing her talk. But I do think she's untrustworthy, because she's a _spy_ who doesn't want to trust us either. We've seen that sort of thing before: she's liable to do something overblown and invasive rather than simply field our advice."

"Well, she was installed by Norrin…" Techno said, a tiny hint of bitterness there. They all knew about the Vice President's lack of respect for them.

"We've heard about your first impressions, Dad." Gosalyn groaned. "But she runs the biggest criminal investigation organization on the planet. Even if she's new, she's not going to be stupid about this."

"It's not about being smart or stupid, it's… it's…" He faltered. "You'd understand if you had met with her like I did!"

"But we haven't met with her, Dad." Gosalyn pointed out in a clear "whose fault is that?" tone. "Not in an official context."

"Because she doesn't want you involved in affairs unless you have to be. She wants to keep our connection as tightly controlled as possible – under her jurisdiction." He let that sink in for a moment. "I don't need to tell why that alone makes me want to give her less rein over our activities."

Gosalyn flinched as she finally saw his point. "You're afraid that if we do this, and SHUSH does get involved, they'll roll in, force us out and make a mess out of everything. And if this really isn't as bad as our most paranoid thoughts make it seem…"

"It's happened before."

The others looked at each other, each silently – if begrudgingly – agreeing with what Darkwing had to say. "Fine," Gosalyn conceded. "We scope this out alone. Just like the note-"

"-trap."

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is!" She said testily. "Just like it says. Can we at least set something up to let SHUSH know where we are in the likely case this goes wrong?"

"Naturally! I'm way ahead of you!" Darkwing said, with a bit of smugness over his foresight. He tapped away at the computer, still posturing as he set up a simple "deadman's" alert system to call for backup, just in they didn't come back. "Wary's one thing, stupid's another. Not that the honored heroes of St. Canard would ever be caught unawares, of course!"

Gosalyn sighed dramatically as she walked over to where her hat was stashed. Honker hid a snicker behind his helmet, though whether it was at Darkwing or Gosalyn's theatrics – or both - was unclear.

"Don't be like that!" Launchpad added 'helpfully.' "Takin' down a bad guy ambush, just like the old days? This ought to be fun!" He laughed in his usual good-natured way, somehow missing the ugly looks that both father and daughter were shooting his way.

Honker actually had to turn away, before his 'good-nature' got him in hot water too…

* * *

 _That Evening. A Few Hours Before The Deadline_

Another reason for Darkwing to be proud of his daughter and her sidekick: when off duty they may be your average teenagers, but when on the job they were all business.

The banter continued, but there was more purpose and meaning behind it – at least in theory. Their identities were intensely guarded – no-slip ups, no confusion. It was a skill they had mastered years ago, and had become as adept at maintaining it as Darkwing Duck himself. Now they were as the world knew them: Gosalyn was the Crimson Avenger. Honker was Techno.

And Launchpad was… Launchpad. Which, now that Darkwing thought about it, was odd. But then again, he always had been. It was anyone's guess why no villains ever followed up on that…

And speaking of things that make little sense…

"I was all set up to say 'another abandoned warehouse?' when we got here…" Crimson said, as they gaped up at the location the card has sent them to. "I had a whole quip planned. Because seriously, when is it not an abandoned warehouse?"

"There's the Elemental Underground." Techno noted.

Crimson ignored him in favor of continuing to gape. "And yet they managed to surprise me."

"You and me both!" Darkwing exclaimed. "I can't wait to see whose idea this was!"

The building certainly had been an abandoned warehouse at some point, but at the moment it looked like a warehouse undergoing a significant identity crisis. The outside had been painted a mix of purple, green and grey. The windows were missing, and some were in the process of being replaced with solid glass panels. Likewise, the skylight had been replaced with something flashy and highly visible.

Most bizarrely, above the entry was a large marquee depicting a group of sinister looking ducks in trenchcoats lugging a sign that said "THE FEARSOME DIVE!" as if they had stolen it. Even if they hadn't had a map, they probably could have spotted this place miles way.

"One thing's for sure," Techno said. "It certainly isn't subtle."

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Tech." Crimson grunted.

"Pleasure."

Launchpad gave Darkwing a nudge. "You know what, DW? I think this is the weirdest trap I've ever seen. And that's counting the time with the dog-riding flamingos."

"You might be right about that, Launchpad." Darkwing chuckled, remembering that crazy caper all too well. "So let's go trip this tawdry trap, shall we? Crimson? Tech?" Partner and sidekick turned to attention, at once ready to hear a plan. "You two see if you can sneak in the skylight, while we go in the front door."

Crimson's eyes widened behing her mask. "The front door?" She paused for a moment, thinking it over. "Actually, that makes sense. That way Tech and I can catch 'em off guard." She pulled out her grapple gun, while Techno activated his jet boots. "Just don't to anything I wouldn't do!" She smirked.

Darkwing returned the snarky, but fond, look. "Same to you."

Once Crimson and Techno were out of sight, Darkwing and Launchpad strolled up to the entrance and threw the doors open, not unlike a cowboy storming into a saloon.

"Ah, complete darkness. The old fashioned approach!" Darkwing laughed pompously, purposefully talking loudly to mock his would-be trappers. "Every crimefighter worth his salt knows what that means."

"You said it, DW. Though why they'd pay you in salt, I don't know."

Darkwing glared at him. "That one had to be on purpose, LP." Launchpad just shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "Fine. Let's just find a clue of some kind."

"What about that?" Launchpad said, pointing directly in front of them. In the middle of the room, under a large spotlight, was a gigantic jack-in-the-box. It was done up like a present, with a rainbow of colors and a little ribbon on top.

It was, frankly, almost impossible to miss. Darkwing scowled, trying to cover the way he'd been too busy admiring the darkness to do so. "Well," He scoffed. "That at least confirms that this whole charade was Quackerjack's idea…"

"You're one-third right, Dipwing!"

The jack-in-the-box suddenly exploded with a burst of confetti. At the same instant the lights suddenly clicked on, allowing the heroes – who had all hit the floor the moment the box went up – to finally see what they had walked into.

The inside was as lavish as the outside, with tables, chairs, and the chicest of bars spanning across a large sectioned area. There were additional levels being built with lounges, blinky lights, and what might have even be the makings of a dance floor in the corner!

More importantly, however, were the people that were in those lavish surroundings. They quickly spotted at least a dozen crooks there – not including the Fearsome Threesome, as Launchpad put them. Bianca Beakley was at sitting at the bar in plain clothes, alongside a group of small time thugs, mockingly tipping a drink in their direction. To the side Cementhead leaned against a pillar, arms crossed and rocky jaw chiseled into a smirk. Even Hammerhead Hannigan could be spotted well in the back, though he seemed to be more interested in enjoying his drink than taking part.

But front and center were Bushroot, Rowe and Quackerjack, who were almost casually standing around the two heroes. Darkwing fell into a fighting stance, throwing them a suspicious look. In response, Rowe merely pointed straight up.

A moment later, there was a sudden crash as one of the skylight windows fell off the base... and a much smaller thud, as it landed in the familiar shape of Camille the Chameleon – with Crimson and Techno in tow, momentarily stunned but otherwise unhurt. They recovered quickly and twisted out of Camille's grasp – or perhaps Camille had let them go, it wasn't clear - diving into formation with Darkwing and Launchpad and matching their battle-ready stance.

"I knew it was a trap." Darkwing whined.

"I think we all sort of figured that, sir." Techno noted, to his chagrin.

"So then why are we here?"

"Heroic caveat, I'd bet." Bushroot tutted patronizingly, like a teacher giving a lecture to a four year old. "Even after years of fighting monsters, spies, doppelgangers and alien invasions, you hero types still can't resist an obvious set-up."

Darkwing sighed. "…he's not wrong…" he said under his breath. But loud enough for everyone to hear, he pulled out his trusty gas gun and aimed it straight at the nearest supervillain – which happened to be Rowe. "Suck gas, evil doers!"

"Easy, mate, easy!" Rowe threw his hands up, though he didn't truly seem worried. "Put the gun down! Nobody's killing anyone!"

"At least not yet." Quackerjack said absently. Rowe – who was still facing down a live barrel – threw him an irritated look.

Bushroot merely chuckled. "I'd believe him. Believe it or not, we really are here simply to celebrate."

Crimson tightened her fists. "We'll file that under 'or not.'"

"It's true!" Rowe said. Despite still having Darkwing's sidearm leveled his way, he never lost the casual tone, as if still in control. "You see Darkwing, we owe a lot to you. For years, we've been tussling it out with you. We each have our own reasons, but we've all been changed by the experience. It may have taken me a while to realize it, but changed for the better, I'd say!"

"Better?" Darkwing shouted, outraged. "You all went merrily on back down the road of crime!"

"Exactly, mate! Don't you see? Crooks and blighters are what this city does best! See, Negaduck wasn't from around here. He didn't get it either! In the end, all he wanted was his win. His heel over all our heads. But we, the felons of St. Canard, know better. And now that now he's gone, we've come to realize that St. Canard is better off without him! What it deserves is a better class of criminal."

"The kind that will rob and plunder it with the loving care and respect it deserves!" Quackerjack chimed in, laughing wildly.

"Hence our little get together, here." Bushroot said bluntly. Unlike the other two, he made sure to talk clearly and simply, so the heroes understood what was going on. "We're going to bring the St. Canard underworld together in a brand new way. Free range supercrime. No overlords trying to make minions out of us. No sadistic conspiracies bringing down our own individual ambitions. It's a new age of fraternity and professionalism for us villains."

"Fraternity and professionalism?" Quackerjack pulled a face. "Makes us sound like a gentlemen's club."

"No minions, huh?" Techno repeated. "So what's all this, then?" He gestured to the room full of villains and thugs, all of whom were eyeing them with intentions that were hard to like.

"Naah." Quackerjack explained. "We may be an organization with class, but we're not a syndicate. At least, that's not the plan."

"Not all of these guys want to be part of the deal." Rowe explained. "And hey, that's their choice. Some are just here to appreciate the décor, and get a good look at tonight's big event. This is going to be the hottest new spot in town – imagine people paying to rub elbows with supervillains! It'll be a goldmine!"

"Why, we're a staple of this city's culture!" Cementhead added, raising his hand to his chest. The other villains cheered in response.

"I think we got the idea out of a comic book." Quackerjack shrugged. Everyone glared at him, which he of course ignored.

"So you're some kind of New Deal for crooks and supervillains. Sounds nice and progressive." Crimson said, her best icy sarcasm rolling off of her voice. Her hand was still tight around her own gas gun, though she had yet to draw it. "That still doesn't explain why we're here. What's your 'big event?' Plan to kick off your little scheme by getting rid of us? I can see Quackerjack doing it, but it's a little dark for you Bushroot!" She glanced at the third ringleader of the pack. "And especially you Rowe!"

But Rowe just grinned. "Not at all, mate!" He laughed, impishly leaning into her face. "In fact, because we owe and respect you lot so much, we wanted to let you know there's no hard feelings!" He stood up, addressing the entire group. "We may fight, but you're all right."

The response from the crowd of villains was a bit less enthusiastic this time.

"Well… more or less. We still don't like you very much, mate."

"And to let you know that in this new game of ours we've got no intentions of getting personal," Quackerjack shouted, so that the whole room could hear. "The soft open of the Fearsome Dive is an actual, factual party in your honor!"

There was another loud pop, and confetti started to fall from the ceiling. The air filled with beats as loud disco music suddenly started playing from the speakers. Several of the villains got up from their seats and began to dance.

This distracted the heroes for just a moment, allowing Cementhead to somehow slip behind them. "Come on, you crazy do-gooders you! Join the fun!" He "helpfully" shoved them towards the center of the room, laughing loudly at their confusion. They were too surprised to resist.

"I was not expecting this." Darkwing stammered. He looked rather shell shocked.

"I don't think any of us were." Crimson replied, sharing her father's expression.

"I was!" Launchpad added gleefully. "That's why I brought this!" He pulled a rainbow-colored party hat out of his jacket and stuffed it on top of his pilot hat. The others looked at him like he had grown three heads. "What? The note did say it was a party!"

"Have fun!" Bushroot yelled over the music. He, Rowe and Quackerjack stood to the side, smugly watching the show. "And do try to be careful. I think Quackerjack designed most of the games…"

And with that, Team Darkwing was consumed by the party like a roach stuck in a bad motel. By the time they realized that this was indeed the worst kind of trap, they were already ankle deep in food, party favors – some of which were, indeed, unnecessarily deadly - and awkward dance sessions with their enemies.

As it turns out, turns out mutant lizards and ducks made of stone seriously have the moves, though that's about all the intel they were able to get through all the rush and madness…

* * *

 _Downstairs, A Short Time Later - Deadline Expiration Imminent_

The party was still in full swing, and the Five were happy to note that their indomitable heroes had yet to make their escape (in fact, as Rowe especially was happy to note, they had spotted Crimson getting down on the dance floor more than once). The novelty had run out, and while everyone was having a surprisingly good time the fun had by now shifted to finding new ways to ensure the do-gooders didn't leave early… mostly just for the sake of messing with them.

At least nobody had started a fight. Yet, anyway.

This was sure to keep everyone busy, so nobody noticed as Rowe, Quackerjack and Bushroot slipped away from the party and entered the back area. It was a secret for now, but once their team got into full swing they intended this to be their headquarters, away from prying eyes.

They headed down two layers of steps, into a basement that wasn't on any blueprint (as an old Negaduck hideout, such things were to be expected). Rowe and Bushroot brushed off a few flecks of confetti, looking quite happy with themselves. But while they looked like they had at least had a little fun, Quackerjack was covered head to toe in party favors and grinning like he'd had the time of his life.

Though that didn't stop him from having questions.

"Don't get me wrong, this was the most fun ever." He said, playing around with Launchpad's party hat. He had somehow gotten ahold of it during the festivities, and was now hanging on one of the puffs of his jester's cap like a tassel. "But I'm still not sure why we threw Darkwing of all people a party."

"Well for one," said Rowe. "We owe him. He and Crimson did save our lives, mate."

"Yeah, but he does that all the time!"

"Secondly," Bushroot cleared his throat to draw Quackerjack's attention. His explanation was a little more on the stern side. "it was necessary. If we just reformed the Fearsome Five normally, Darkwing and SHUSH would've thought of Negaduck right away cracked down on us like you wouldn't believe. We legitimately don't want to be like Negaduck, but there's no reason for them to understand that. So we want them to be confused about us, so they can't figure out where we stand."

"An obvious front like this and an open invite is just the thing to keep 'em going until we're good to go." Rowe added.

"Oh." Quackerjack paused for a moment, then cheerfully went back to following the group. "Here I thought we just opened this place to stick it to that guy who runs the Old Haunt."

"Well, that too."

They continued to walk in silence for a few moments, before Bushroot started up the conversation again.

"Although… gentlemen, I had a thought."

Quackerjack grinned. "A dangerous pastime," he quipped, making Bushroot roll his eyes.

"I'm serious. If we're going to be serious about this being a 'new game,' we should probably draw up rules of conduct."

Rowe and Quackerjack groaned dramatically. Quackerjack actually clutched his face, falling to the ground in mock-horror.

Bushroot glared at them. "Don't give me that, you know I'm right. We were already thinking about it anyway."

"And we know that you know what we know you're right," Quackerjack whined. It was a testament to how well they knew him that the other two followed that immediately. "Can't we leave it at that?"

"Yeah, don't be a stiff, mate. I thought we'd keep it more to 'overall guidelines,'" Rowe said defensively.

Bushroot raised an eyebrow. "With this group of crazies? I say go for structure. Even pirates had a code."

"Fine. But let's draw that code up after we take care of unfinished business."

"Of course."

They had arrived. Below the club was a huge room that led to several smaller corridors – one of Negaduck's more secure hideouts, just in case they really had to lie low. They had already set up a computer – nowhere near as powerful as Darkwing's, but manageable – and a series of cameras to feed into it. That way they could see everything that happened upstairs.

The place was largely empty, but that could be fixed in time. What was really important was the object in the center of the room.

The jack-in-the-box, as Quackerjack called it, had remained unresponsive ever since their last conversation with its mysterious master – even as they moved it all the way down here. But Bushroot had since given it a thorough inspection, and figured out how it worked reasonably well: by his estimation, it was "a surprisingly simple device for such a ridiculously obtuse plan." Quackerjack had laughed at this, but Rowe didn't care much.

In the present, Bushroot was silently but unanimously chosed to be the one to do the honors.

"Well, here goes…" Bushroot said nervously as he opened up a panel on the side. He glanced back at them, making sure they were all behind this. Seeing that they were, he barely hesitated before pressing a big, red button: labeled "CALL."

The effect was immediate. The camera and speakers rose out of the box again. There was a moment of unbearable static, and then the voice was echoing through the room.

Its tone was sharp, as if they had interrupted it in the middle of something important. There was a authoritative sting to it, as though this wasn't the only thing it saw as an interrupting. "Yes? What is it?"

"It's the Five. You wouldn't believe it, but we decided to take your job offer after all."

There was a pause. When it ended, the voice sounded much less irritatable. "Excellent. I was beginning to worry that I would need to look… elsewhere. I will send you an advance on your pay and the specifics of the job at a later date. But before you get started, you will need to develop additional resources."

"No need. We already made a few connections and buffed up our ranks."

"I am well aware that your group has been trying to expand." The voice responded, prompting surprised responses from the trio of villains. It continued on, unable to see their suspicion. "Such information is, of course, useful for someone in my position. But no, what I mean is that there are several tools you will require to accomplish my tasks, and you will need to take the steps yourselves to… ready their use."

"I see. And what are these tools supposed to be?" Rowe shuffled irritably. "Where are we supposed to get them from, mate? For a single job, you're certainly giving us a lot of supplementary work."

"They are inside this box. After this call ends, it will open and reveal them. This is all simply preparation, you understand. You will be well compensated."

The trio looked back and forth at each other, but each remained silent. They were already in for a penny: they might as well make back a pound. Even if it did mean evasive employers piling on additional work.

"I trust you will be able to ensure their full potential on your own." The voice concluded. "I will be in contact. Do NOT call after this point."

With a sharp click, the call dropped. The speaker retracted into its compartment, which sealed itself – most likely so the device could quietly self-destruct to leave no trace. There was a long hiss as the box's shell came apart, each side falling away from it to reveal a smaller section within.

There were two things sitting in the compartment. The first was a second box, containing what looked like a pile of mismatched metal junk. The other was a painting.

It was a portrait - to be specific - of a pale woman with long, shaggy black hair and a manic look. She was surrounded by an explosion of color and indiscernible shapes. There was a note, titling it "The Artiste, by Melody Amber Phoenix."

"Tacky." Rowe drawled.

Quackerjack snorted, but Bushroot showed more of an interest. "Whoa!" He leaned in close to inspect its level of detail. "I can't believe it, but that looks just like Splatter Phoenix!"

Rowe blinked. "Who?"

"You got me!" Quackerjack said, shrugging. "Sounds like a burger joint."

Bushroot groaned. "Okay… Rowe I understand. He's newer. Comparatively, anyway. But come on, Quackerjack! Didn't you ever read the underworld newsletter back in the day?"

Quackerjack, as usual, was unabashed. "Can't say that I did." He said flippantly. "Too busy playing with toys, believe it or not! Toys like this one!" He squealed, turning to the box of metal parts. He picked up each of the pieces in turn and turned them over in his hands. "Building blocks, now with jagged metal edges! That's my kind of playtime!"

Bushroot threw his hands out to stop him. "Wait! We should probably-"

But it was no use. Quackerjack had already started putting the pieces together. As soon as he connected each in turn, they would hum and glow, and a magnetic pull began to join others even if Quackerjack hadn't touched them.

"- have… it… checked out first…"

The parts assembled themselves quicker and quicker. Soon, they didn't need Quackerjack any more. He stepped back and watched as a shape formed – arms and legs, then a head and a chest. A complete body slowly but surely began to take form, standing higher and higher with every added part.

"Oh… boy…" Rowe said shakily, his neck craned as he took in this new development.

It was a huge, golden robot – easily several heads taller than any of them. It had lanky arms and bulky legs, and its chest seemed a size too big for the rest of it. It's body was covered with buttons and diodes, and there were light bulbs sticking out where a person's ears and nose might be. At the top, a

It stood up. Then it turned to look at them. For just a brief moment, its eyes flickered red.

Then it spoke, with a voice that was as booming as it was tinny and monotone. It's eyes were normal again. "I. AM. ARMSTRONG! I. AM. YOUR. FRIEND!"

It might have been impolite, but none of them had a response. Even given that they had no idea what to expect from their benefactor's "resources," seeing a robot assemble itself from trash right in front of you tends to be a jarring experience. This outdid Frogduck's cheer session by far.

Naturally, it was Quackerjack who broke the ice.

"This is better than building blocks! It's a Transformer!" In a way only Quackerjack could, he jumped forward and wrung the robots large, imposing hand as if it were his long lost brother. Rowe and Bushroot could have punched him. "I've got a great feeling about this!"

The others glanced nervously at each other as Quackerjack began to chat amicably with their guest – and, apparently, newest member.

"Mate…" Rowe started slowly, not taking his eyes off their robotic surprise. "Why do I get the feeling we just dove into a whole new can of worms?"

His mutant comrade only shrugged. "Villainous caveat, I'd say…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This merits some explanation. If you've seen Scyphi's prologue on his own page, then you already know. If not, then hightail it over there, read The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck - if only because it's amazing - and come back. As one of the best fics I've ever seen, I had always admired TNADWD's world, setting and characterization built high on top of what's already a great foundation. It stands as the only fanfic itself that I've ever been seriously invested in writing further fanfiction about.

Imagine my surprise when I approached Scyphi with the idea and he was all for it! It's been quite the privilege. And in tandem, we've built what is hoped to be a fun, compact set of continuations for the TNADWD continuity, focusing - at least at first - on a few unlikely protagonists in the wake of the pretty big events of the end of that story. Expect twist, turns, an update every two weeks, and the occasional plucked feather.

The first of these, Retake Five, is a multi-part story that focuses on the Fearsome Five now that they're leaderless, low on members and in need of purpose. Because after all, who doesn't love a set of eccentric but dangerous villains? Big inspiration here: for Flash fans, or comic fans in general, the Rogues stand out as one of the most distinctive villain groups out there - and the big reason for that is the way the balance between principled crook and occasional comrade. The whole "professionalism and fraternity" bit is a big shout out to them.

Lastly, I leave you with my Duck reference of the day: you might remember The Old Haunt as Megavolt's villain bar of choice in the original series. Bad guy hangouts are fun, and the original, tron-split Negaduck trashing the place was one of my favorite scenes of the old show. See how many more you can find!

 _Next Time:_ The Five have begun their first steps towards a brave, bold era in villainy! But to get started on their mysterious benefactor's machinations, they need to shore up their numbers. And what better way to do so than an... unconventional prison break? No worries, it should be **Simple, Mate!** \- or so you'll see, next time!


	2. Simple, Mate

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where Negaduck has recently nearly taken over St. Canard with a multi-dimensional army, and now after his defeat the world is going through a few changes.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Retake Five - Pt. 2 - Simple, Mate**

* * *

 _Midtown St. Canard,_

Security Officer Virgil Lancetail was, by all means, a model SHUSH agent. Being a highly colorful manakin as he was, jobs that required a low profile tended to be undesirable, but a guard job in a depot at a top-secret facility was not a bad consolation. On the surface, the Dudly D. Duck Institute for Higher Aptitude was a defunct private think tank turned dilapidated museum. It generally catered to confused tourists who took a wrong turn trying to get downtown, and few knew how it managed to stay open all these years.

Even fewer knew the true purpose of the facility, literally lying below that surface. Over the years, SHUSH had grown an increasing need for a location that could hold dangerous experiments and unpredictable oddities for containment and occasional study. The Institute was still, technically speaking, a private organization, but their deal with SHUSH to hold any such anomalies had been in play for so long that it practically defined the place – not that most who visited would ever find out. Government subsidies kept it afloat, and its small cadre of exclusive scientiests got an endless supply of experiments to monitor – under very rigid SHUSH regulations, of course.

All they had to tolerate in return was a degree of security and secrecy – though given SHUSH, "a degree" often translated to "quite extensive." SHUSH also prided themselves on being ready for surprises, after all. Especially given that with the kind of content SHUSH was giving them access to, any surprises were liable to be of the highly dangerous kind.

As such, Lancetail's post was as the first person any visitors would deal with upon entry, and the last person they would cross on return. Whether this meant via polite conversation or pain was their choice: he was very good at both. Though technically he answered to the curator of the Institute, the two rarely interacted. Instead, he got most of his orders straight from SHUSH Central, and was proud of it. Before the leadership shake-up at SHUSH, he had been commended at least once for his dedication by Director Hooter himself.

Ever since the switch, he has hoped to receive a similar praise from the new director… even if he did allow the occasional diversion into television. He claims it helps him focus.

So far, nobody has managed to prove him wrong…

On the desk a small television played a prominent news program, which he glanced at every so often. In this town, it paid to be current. Onscreen, an affable looking anchor was concluding a report. _"… and that concludes acclaimed reporter Julia Plumis' expose and exclusive interview with the newly reforged threats to our very lives… or at least taxpayer dollars… the Fearsome Five! Such strange fellows… thank you Julia, for taking on such a dangerous scoop!"_

An inset showed a young but resolute looking reporter, who had clearly had easier days. There were brambles and fake teeth clinging to her hair, but she seemed to have given up on removing them. _"It may have been risky, Clive, but as you heard from their own lips the Five seemingly pride themselves on not being as vicious as Negaduck… mostly. But however standards they claim to hold, the public deserves to know what kind of menace they pose to our community, and it was my privilege to cover this story."_

The anchor made a non-committal noise, but continued his friendly repartee. _"As you say, Julia, the public deserves to know. And if it's all the same to you, I hope that's all we hear from those devious crooks!"_ Plumis nodded (jostling loose one of the fake teeth), and her inset disappeared. The anchor then turned to the audience. " _For all you viewers out there, keep your valuables handy! And if you see anyone in a silly costume that isn't on our approved heroes list, you're probably best walking the other way (and even then, maybe watch your step…). Urging you to stay safe, this is Clive Ganderson for **News On The Wing** signing out!"_

Lancetail snorted and turned off the set. It was rare moments like this, when criminals crawling over the streets, when he wished he had a more proactive job. These villains thrived on the misdirection and ignorance of the public, putting on a grand show while leeching off the city like fleas.

They could parade around on tv as much as they wanted, but he at least would never fall for their games. If he had one of the Fearsome Five in front of him, he wouldn't hesitate to pay them the justice they deserved…

"Evening."

Lancetail glanced up from his thoughts to see two people approaching his depot. They were toting a large, nondescript box, but the face of the larger one in front was one he could recognize: it was Otis Quacker, an agent from the labs at SHUSH headquarters. The two were well acquainted, as Otis was in charge of the deliveries from headquarters to the Institute. He took care of many deliveries between the Institute and other SHUSH facilities, so if he was in person it could only mean that the labs had another guest to add to their growing collection of headaches and hassles.

Protocol called for a very specific greeting, to ensure all deliveries were uncompromised and lacking in comical, deadly, or comically deadly misunderstandings.

"Evening yourself, Quacker. How goes? Try anything new recently?"

"In fact, I did." Quacker replied. His voice was a little raspy today, but there was a strain of the flu going around town these days. "Tried out the new deli down the way."

"Yeah, I know that place." Lancetail replied, noting the correct response. "I love the pastrami on rye."

"Me too. S'long as they hold the mustard." The courier added in an even more hoarse voice, looking very nervous.

Lancetail turned his eye on him. Quacker was a burly guy, so this other guy – an overwhelmed looking otter - looked positively scrawny in comparison. Lancetail didn't recognize him, but he was wearing a uniform from the primary laboratories. Besides Quacker, Lancetail had little contact with anyone less important to that area than Dr. Bellum herself, so an unknown agent wasn't exactly a rarity.

In any case, those were the correct passphrases. More or less.

"Who says 'down the way' any more?" Lancetail broke into a wide grin. It took Quacker a few seconds to realize he was joking and start awkwardly laughing along. "So what all this, then?"

Lancetail gestured to the box, and the courier helping to carry it. He tried to catch the otter's eye, but the skinny guy just looked away and didn't say a word. Lancetail decided that he had to be a new hire: the more official jobs always made the new guys anxious.

"Relocation," Quacker grunted. "From the main lab."

Lancetail raised an eyebrow. "And what is it, exactly?"

"Volatile algae mold."

And up went the other eyebrow. _"Algae?_ Crap, how 'volatile' can algae get, exactly?"

Quacker shuddered. "Very. A regeneration exsss-" He suddenly stopped short and went into a coughing fit. The courier's eyes widened, and he moved to slap him on the back before Quacker waved him off. "Regeneration technology;" he clarified. "But it developed powerful mental potential and made a major calamity in the lab. Nearly killed everyone. They sssstopped it-" Quacker broke off with another cough. The courier got away with nudging him this time, a little harder than Lancetail thought was necessary. "I mean 'took it down,' but you might wager they want it held here. For protection."

Lancetail stared. Quacker was acting a little strange today, but it wasn't anything too bizarre. He could gossip about his coworkers later. "Open it up." He said to the courier, who was very prompt.

Inside the box was a bubbling, goopy substance which at first glance looked more like melting compost than anybody's experiment. But it was definitely moving on its own: the box was completely still, but it continued to shudder and bubble on its own, especially when Lancetail's hand came near.

"Crap-ola, that's creepy," was Lancetail's definitive conclusion. "Thanks for bringing it over."

"One final thing." Quacker added. "The doctor sssaid-" The otter moved to thump him again. Lancetail didn't know why Quacker didn't tell him off. Instead he paused and continued to explain. "…wanted you to know that it could revive at any time. With the power it had…"

Lancetail groaned. "Yeah, not good. What else is new?" He gestured more vigorously to the entrance, making it clear his desire to get that box out of his sight as soon as possible outweighed being friendly. "If that's the case, then get it contained right away. We'll inspect it later." He barked. "I swear, all these crazy experiments. We'll all end up green-skinned freaks at this rate!"

Lancetail turned to file the addition into his official logbook, thus missing Quacker pull a grimace behind him. Inside the box, something shuddered. When Lancetail turned back, Quacker's face had already twisted back into an overly cheerful smile.

"You're cleared to go. You know where the processing room is: straight in, down to Sublevel 2.5, then down the center."

"Thankssss," Quacker said absentmindedly, wincing as soon as the word left his mouth. The courier gaped at him.

"You okay?" Lancetail asked. "You sound kind of raspy."

Quacker shuffled awkwardly. It was definitely strange. "Er… a cold."

"Oh, gesundheit then."

"Thankssss again!"

The box suddenly lurched forward – from Lancetail's eyes it looked as though the courier had jerked it the wrong way, and Quacker nearly pitched over onto the ground. Lancetail jumped to his feet. Quacker would no doubt be fine, but if the box broke open they were surely have a biohazard on their hands.

Luckily, the two caught themselves before that could happen. Satisfied that a disaster wasn't imminent, Lancetail sat back down. He shot them a teasing smile.

"Ha! Close one. You lot at the main labs need to hire more surefooted temps."

Neither Quacker nor the courier said anything. Lancetail was sure Quacker would explode on his incompetent companion, but he just grunted noncommittally and threw the otter a murderous glare.

There was no further dally. Bidding Lancetail a final wave, the two quickly heaved the crate towards the exit. Lancetail, confident that they could handle their cargo, turned up his broadcasts and went back to watching the road.

As soon as he stopped paying attention to them, the two scuttled closer to the door and dipped out of his sight range. Once it was clear the guard would not look back and notice anything suspicious, their demeanor completely changed. At once the two were at each other's throats, the box swaying back and forth as they argued.

"What was that, mate?" The "courier" growled, his hoarseness gone. He lifted his hat to reveal Rowe's distinctive features. "You nearly blew our cover! I told you to cool it with the sssssnake sssssounds!" He hissed, overemphasizing his partner's speech impediment.

"Do you know how hard it wassss to pick sssspecific wordssss on the fly?" "Agent Quacker" shot back. His eyes warped into a reptilian split: the cold-blooded gaze of Camille the Chameleon. "And I didn't hear you sssspeaking up any!"

"Two reasons. One: you're the one who was supposed to get us in and out. And two: didn't you see what he was watching? He'd've recognized my voice right out! Let alone my face!"

Camille rolled her eyes. "Ah yesss, that ridiculousss interview. Nicssse way to get the attention of everyone in town!"

"You're just jealous cause you didn't get to do it, mate."

"Sssaysss you, 'mate!'" Camille curled her lip, spitting Rowe's familiar phrase back at him.

Rowe pulled into her face, pushing the crate down to the ground. "I ain't your mate!"

"Lady? Gentleman?" Came a voice from inside the package. A single vine inched out of the top, pushing the experimental mulch that served as the group's "mutated superpowered algae" aside. One of Bushroot's eyes peeked out from beneath it, half-glaring and half-rolling in sheer exasperation. "Can we refrain from jostling the crate? It's not all that comfortable in here in the first place."

"Oopsss!" Camille's anger quickly disappeared. "Sssorry, my sssweet nectar!"

"Please don't call me that." Bushroot sighed. His visible eye looked over to Rowe, who was chuckling under his breath. "We good to go?"

Rowe quickly composed himself. "Aye! The plan is set. We just need to get past the first floor and to our first checkpoint. Then it's in and out! Simple, mate!"

"The plan" was a carefully conceived and meticulously plotted scheme that required paramount precision. Robbing SHUSH, even if through what was technically a third party, was not something even villains of their reputation could take lightly, but it had to be done and now was the perfect opportunity. SHUSH was in transition and distracted, with their focuses and resources shuffling about. What's more, word on the street was that they and Darkwing Duck were not currently on the closest of terms: the chances of him being called to interfere were tantalizingly slim.

It would no doubt make Darkwing very happy to know that criminals found a SHUSH without him to be a perfect target. Quackerjack insisted that they should leave a calling card mocking SHUSH top brass about it.

That sort of thinking was why Quackerjack was not coming along on this mission.

Perfect opportunity or no, they needed stealth. While Quackerjack had the technical and scientific knowhow necessary to handle their target – more or less – subtlety was not among his virtues, so Bushroot's was the designated genius this time around – much to both of their chagrin. Still, while they were better at it than any maniacal jester, neither Bushroot nor Rowe were very good at sneaking around either. While Bushroot's plants at least made a good asset, Camille was still brought along to pick up any slack – not that Bushroot would ever admit it.

It was a motley crew to be sure, but the good thing about extreme amounts of planning was that, ironically, once you got enough of it down things actually became very simple. Their scheme was very straightforward, so it was doubtful the three of them would have much trouble if they just followed the script. If everything went well with no complications, they would be out within the hour.

Alas, they ran into their first complication within seconds of opening the front doors.

"That'sss odd…" Camille whispered, gaping at the completely empty hall in front of them. "There are no guardsss."

"Is that normal?" Bushroot murmured, muffled by the crate.

"SHUSH uses this place as its personal dumping ground," Rowe replied, exasperated. "So I'll go out on a limb and say no, mate."

"Sssshould we keep going in?" Camille said timidly. She cautiously eyed the vacant halls.

"Depends." Rowe gestured for Camille to drop the crate again – ignoring a muffled 'ow' from Bushroot - and put a hand to his ear, activating a hidden receiver in his earlobe. On his cue Camille did the same, and there was another shuffling inside the box as Bushroot struggled to reach his ear in such a tiny space.

Rowe's was met with the sound of static, followed by empty feedback. "Beakley?" He called out quietly, unsure of how loud he should be in a situation like this.

On the other side of a secured radio connection, Bianca Beakley – the former Bugmaster - was sitting in the basement of their hideout, armed with an impressive makeshift supercomputer ("It's amazing what you can whip up with a few junkyard parts and some duct tape!" Quackerjack would brag) and a table full of meticulously acquired files and blueprints.

 _"I'm here, working on it,"_ came her voice from the other side, excessively flat and tense. " _Believe it or not, tapping into security systems touched up by the world's leading covert organization isn't easy. I used to have people do this for me! If the Institute actually let SHUSH into all their systems, this would've been-"_

"Tell us all about it later, Beakley," Rowe sighed. "What happened to the guards?"

 _"Oh, that."_ Beakley muttered. _"I suppose that_ _ **is**_ _odd, isn't it?"_ There was a long pause. _"There are guards on my screens. I can see them clear as day. Maybe you're not looking hard enough."_ Another pause. _"Come to think of it, you're not on my screen either. Be a little more visible, would you?"_

It was hard to tell whether she was joking or serious. Either way, Rowe had something scathing to say in response. Luckily, Bushroot cut in first. "Something is clearly wrong with their security feeds. Given what we're walking into, it can't be an accident."

"Sssso, sssshould we go in?" Camille asked again, this time more pointedly.

Rowe winced – already mentally kicking himself for what he was about to decide. "Hate to say it, but… yeah. By the time we get another chance for this, our benefactor will be old and gray and probably way stingier with his money." There was a chorus of resigned groans, even from the other end of the radio. "So let's press forward, mate." He stopped for a moment, considering. "You know, for now anyways."

 _"That's not what I call 'fun!'"_

Rowe made an irritated noise. The decision was painful enough without lip. "It's not supposed to be!" He shot back.

 _"Oh!"_ Beakley gasped, caught by surprise. _"Sorry. I was talking to Quackerjack. He's bugging me. You know, because you wouldn't let either of us come along. Shoddy decision making if you ask me. Now go away you little pest!"_ She stopped short _. "Sorry, not you again, boss! Get outta here you crazy… yes, fine, I'll tell them."_ She sighed deeply before addressing Rowe again. Luckily for her dignity, both Rowe and Bushroot had been there before - though Camille, on the other hand, was fully enjoying the show. _"He says 'hi,' and that he 'wishes he was joining in on the fun.'"_

 _"Quackerjack can come on trips like this when he learns self control,"_ Bushroot droned, having had this conversation before. _"You can come when you finally settle the identity issues you were telling us about."_

"Don't go there, boss! I'm working on it!"

"We ain't your bosses!" Rowe said evenly. "And in any case, in the meantime why don't you work on getting us through this – would ya, mate?" To the side, Camille snickered under her breath. He shot her a look, though he knew deep down he might have laughed too if he weren't the one in this conversation.

 _"Fine, fine! But I'm not the Quackulator, you know. If I make anything bigger than the tiniest splash they will find out what's going on."_ There another inaudible interruption from Quackerjack. _"I know! So ungrateful!"_ She said loudly, clearly uncaring that they could hear her.

Camille laughed again.

Bushroot sighed, once again getting everyone back on track. "Can we get a status report before we go any further? What's the news with Cementhead? I mean-" he backtracked, realizing anything labelled "the news" was probably a sore subject. "-does he have an update?"

While not present with the rest of them, Cementhead played a very central role in the plan. He was the distraction: Quackerjack had given him the location of a very large, very coveted diamond and told him to go nuts. Regardless of whether he actually got the diamond or not, his objective was to make it look like the robbery was genuine and thus attract as much attention to it as possible. The farther the authorities were from the Institute, the better their odds would be later on.

 _"Right, I forgot about him."_ Beakley said. _"But I think he did… okay, yeah. He grabbed the diamond. No cops or capes are there yet, but he did say some other thief showed up. He made particular note of the guy making his entrance by walking through the wall."_

"What to you mean? Like, as in he snuck in?" Rowe asked.

 _"No. I mean he walked through the wall. Swenlin insists it's nothing he can't handle, though."_

"Sssoundsss helpful." Camille said sarcastically.

"Okay…" Rowe said slowly, glancing at her. "Tell him to tell us if anything else happens, mate. Anything else?'

 _"Not yet. But the hidden elevator to the downstairs vaults isn't far from where you are. You have the keycard, don't you Rowe?"_

"Of course, mate!" Rowe grinned, glancing down at the pilfered key hanging around his neck. They would have to thank the real Agent Quacker for his face and equipment, if they ever saw him again. When they met last he had been unconscious, thanks to Camille's muscle and a spitting flower or two, and floating out to Audubon Bay on a mattress wearing nothing but his underwear.

He would be fine. Probably.

At the very least he hadn't gotten back to SHUSH yet, as his keycard still activated the elevator just fine. Slipping behind a secret panel but a cracked and duct-tape wrapped statue of the Institute's founder, Dudly D. Duck himself, they were soon on their way to SHUSH's vaults and secondary labs.

They still had yet to meet any interference. In fact, the ride down was downright pleasant – even with Beakley's running commentary.

 _"Oh, the things I would've done to find out about all this when I was still on the news,"_ she mused, sounding a bit distracted. Rowe assumed she was looking over the security cameras, taking in all the top secret information. _"I mean, half of these rooms explain stories reporters have been dying to crack for decades!"_

Camille flashed a cheeky grin. "Maybe you can ssstill sssell them to that reporter Julia Plumisss. We ssseem to have a rapport with her!" Camille joked, shooting glances at Rowe and Bushroot. Clearly the interview was still fresh on her mind.

Beakley's voice suddenly exploded, making everyone jump. Camille and Rowe nearly dropped the crate, resulting in more grumbling from Bushroot. _**"Don't talk to me about that prissy little upstart!"**_ She roared. _"I still can't believe you took that interview!"_

Camille's smile looked absolutely fiendish. "Jealousss much, Bianca? Usssed to be you were this town'sss media darling."

 _"Jealous? Me? Hardly! These networks are always looking for a vapid but pretty face to hitch up ratings!"_

"How ironic to hear you say that," Bushroot chuckled.

That may have been a mistake, for Beakley's voice went from loud and wild to low and dangerous. _"Laugh while you can, 'boss!'"_ There was another lull. _"Good idea, Quackerjack! I… oh!"_

The threat trailed off suddenly. Rowe, knowing that a sudden end to shenanigans could only mean bad news, jerked around (inside the crate, there was a loud thump and an "ow" not unlike a head accidentally bumping into wood).

"What is it?" He barked.

 _"Er… a couple of things."_ Beakley said warily. _"First, an update from Cementhead. It seems he's had to deal with a few more interruptions. Frogduck showed up."_

"Swell." Rowe groaned. "Maybe be should've let him join after all."

Quackerjack could be just barely be heard saying something to the effect of "I love that guy!" in response, while Beakley made a disgusted noise. _"I dearly hope you're joking,"_ she droned. _"In any case, Frogduck kicked off a three way battle between Swelin, him and the mystery thief. Details are forthcoming, but the good news is Darkwing showed up just like we wanted. Cementhead should be able to keep him busy."_

"Well that's good news, mate. What about the other thing?"

 _"The other thing? To be honest... well… that's just odd."_

"I'm about one more 'that's odd' away from aborting this whole thing," Bushroot said flatly.

 _"Sorry, these things don't get figured out in a day! I'm still seeing guards all over the place in the camera feeds, but you definitely haven't interacted with any. Including one in that elevator! And I still can't see you!"_

Camille and Rowe started in surprise. They really did drop the crate – cue another "ow!" from Bushroot – and waved their arms wildly around the elevator, looking for an enemy that wasn't there.

"Maybe they're inivisssible!" Camille noted. "It could be a ssset up!"

Bushroot sighed deeply. One could practically hear him facepalming. "More likely their system really is being tampered with."

 _"Yes. There is some strange interference here. Someone a lot better than me is messing with the Institute's feeds. I didn't notice before, but since they did all the legwork I think maybe I can fiddle with it without raising the alarm."_

"'Fiddle with it' how, exactly?''

 _"I should be able to make it so I can see what's really going on, keep the hack in place so the idiot guard out front stays oblivious, and also keep whoever did this from seeing us. Anything else is pushing it."_

Rowe grinned, laughing. "'Anything else,' she says! And you said you weren't good at this, mate!"

 _"They send all the hackers to minimum security. I suppose I picked up a few tricks."_

With a ding, the elevator arrived at the bottom floor. Camille and Rowe picked up the crate again from the floor, but neither moved an inch until after Beakley finished with her work. Which, fortunately, only took a few minutes.

 _"Aaaand, done. Have fun!"_ She said cheerfully, while the others ushered out of the elevator. The basement was brightly lit and monotonous, with rooms ranging from the very small to the utterly gigantic, separated by large, spacious but entirely identical white-tiled hallways. Each room had only one door, thick as a battleship hull and just as difficult to penetrate.

Rowe and Camille took a few tentative steps into the open. Just as it had been above, there were no guards anywhere no matter what Beakley insisted. But something about the featureless corridors and dull white glow made this absence more creepy than reassuring.

Their footsteps echoed, but there was no other sound to balance them. It had a way of making a humble thief feel small.

 _"Oh!"_ Beakley said suddenly, making them all jump again. They could hear the sound of ruffling papers from the other end. _"Now that's definitely odd."_

"What did I say?!" Bushroot shouted so loud the crate rumbled. Rowe and Beakley winced.

 _"Sorry,"_ she replied, not sounding sorry at all. _"But I've found our problem. There's a group of suspicious looking gentlemen in one of the main vaults near your location."_

Rowe frowned. "That is odd, mate." There was an irritated groan from inside the box.

Camille looked between the others in alarm. "Maybe they're the misssing guardsss! It'sss an ambusssh!"

 _"Nah, those guys and the scientists are all stuffed in one of the store rooms down there. Don't be so paranoid!"_ If Beakley was aware of the irony of what she had just said, she gave no sign of it. Camille looked up at one of the cameras and gave it a very cold look. Beakley did not react to that either _. "It's been a while since I've been up to latest news, but I used to report on these mooks often enough to recognize those stupid yellow uniforms. Looks like FOWL Eggmen. Three guesses as to who hacked the cameras."_

"You mean FOUL Eggmen. They changed the name."

 _"Whatever."_ There was a pause - Quackerjack must have said something again. _"No, I don't know how he heard the difference. Seems a bit superficial if you ask-"_

"Beakley, focus!" Bushroot barked. "What are they doing here? What's in that vault?"

 _"Right, of course."_ She continued. _"They're removing some kind of container. I can't see the writing on it clearly from the camera, but there's pictures on the walls. A radiation symbol. A shot of a big rock. Images of… that's odd- I mean, uh..."_ She quickly backtracked.

Bushroot only sighed. "Just tell us."

 _"Well, it looks like pictures of half ducks, half… animals. Feral ones, anyway. Was SHUSH doing some kind of werewolf experiment?"_

Rowe, Bushroot and Camille shared alarmed looks.

"You don't think, mate?" Rowe whispered, talking to Bushroot but looking at Camille. "Agent Quacker"'s face was starting to turn an unsightly green.

"Radioactive rock? Feral mutations? You tell me."

 _"What am I missing?"_ Beakley shouted over the line, sounding tense. She clearly did not take to being out of the loop well. _"Quackerjack just went razor straight over here! WHAT IS GOING ON?"_

"Ah, that's right…" Bushroot mused. "Your prison must've been out of range. And SHUSH managed to minimize the news spread outside of St. Canard. For good reason."

This was nice and ominous, bu didn't answer any questions. Rowe, sensing that Beakley was about to say something snappish along those lines, picked up the slack. "It's like this, mate. A while back, some kinda meteor fell from the sky and landed in the bay. Nobody knows from where. But it pumped the whole city full of radiation. Turned the lot of us into a bunch of wild mutants monsters."

"Well, except me." Bushroot noted. "It turned me into a duck again."

Rowe stared at him. "Lucky you, mate. I woke up in restraints, remember?"

"Right. Sorry about that," Bushroot said sheepishly. Rowe rolled his eyes.

Camille shuddered. "It made my powersss go haywire. It wasss agony! I want no part of any plan that hasss to do with that thing!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure that room is completely insulated against radiation," Bushroot said reassuringly, as the only one remaining completely calm. Either the science of it or the fact that it hadn't seriously harmed him the last time kept him from having the same nervous reaction as the others. "There must have been some small trace of it left after SHUSH and Darkwing destroyed it. Makes sense they would keep it here. It's too dangerous to be left laying around someplace."

"Ah, my dear sssweet rossse always knowsss what to sssay!" Camille swooned, which looked rather strange given that she was still in Agent Quacker's body.

"Don't call me that!" Bushroot whined.

"Anyway," interrupted Rowe. "How should we deal with this?"

"By doing nothing and leaving it the hell alone?" Camille insisted. "It'sss dangerousss, but it'sss also not our concern. I sssay we get what we came for."

 _"True. Quackerjack wants us to leave them alone since whatever plan they have for it will 'probably be fun,' which I don't agree with, but I am on board with with them being too much of a risk for-"_ Beakley stopped short and started barking at Quackerjack again. _"Hey! This is a situation where logic and your twisted idea of fun agree, I'll have you know!"_

Rowe took a moment to think. He glanced down at the crate, knowing that just inside Bushroot was likely doing the same thing. He was making an awful lot of decisions that he would probably hate today. "I don't think so… usually I'd be all for ignoring this and letting them fail on their own, but a theft like this? We can't let it happen."

Camille looked at him in confusion. On the radio, Beakley and even Quackerjack were silent and waiting for an answer.

"This probably the most powerful thing SHUSH has locked up down here," Bushroot explained for him. "If FOUL smashes their way out of here with that, we'll have every agent from here to Duckburg on their tail, and there's no way they'll be able to keep Darkwing out of the loop on this one. It'll be a crackdown with us in the crossfire."

"In which case, mate, they might get away but there goes our escape. It's us or them."

 _"Fine. So how do we stop them, boss?"_

"I ain't your boss!" Rowe grunted again. "But I think we should try and keep anonymous. Might as well not burn bridges we can use later. Can we stall them without showing ourselves?"

"Maybe we can." Bushroot replied mysteriously. The crate started to shudder more violently than before, and Camille and Rowe immediately dropped it. There was no "ow" this time.

The lid of the box slid open on is own, and Bushroot slowly rose up from within, gently pushing the other contents out of the way. He threw his arms out and allowed himself a nice, long stretch – which, given that he had spent the last hour or so cramped in such a small space, the others decided not to give him a hard time about.

"First off," he said. "Since we've established that nobody can actually see us, I'm getting out of this box." He lifted himself out completely and hopped onto the pristine, white floors. "Man, it's cold out here…" Before leaving the box entirely, he dipped his hand into the compartment full of mulch. The plant matter in the mixture climbed up his arm and across his back, collecting in his other hand like some sort of sentient ball of slime. He tickled it, watching it form into a variety of shapes.

"And second…"

He pointed to the lab FOUL was occupying, and the slimy mass leapt from his hand and slithered across the floor towards it, leaving no trace of itself on the floors despite its apparent filthiness. It plastered itself against the lab's door, spreading into the rims and mechanisms and stretching itself against the panels themselves.

The result looked rather like police tape, were police tape made of oozing gunk.

"There!" Bushroot said, looking over his handiwork. He was unable to resist a twinge of pride. "The mulch should gum up the works and fasten the door tight – when they try to leave, they'll literally hit a wall. And it will completely dissipate without a trace when I say so. Nobody will know it was us."

Rowe whistled. "You're a right genius, mate."

"Thanks."

 _"Quackerjack says you should've just put an exploding booby trap on the other side."_

Rowe and Bushroot shared a smirk. "And that's why this ain't his kinda mission, mate."

"That's what I said…"

With the FOUL situation taken care of for now, the group made their way over to their own vault. Visually, from the outside it was identical to all the other featureless labs on the floor – which would have been a minor but effective security measure if there were still guards running around, or if didn't have eyes in the sky and classified passwords extracted from agents in the know (those spitting flowers they used on the real Quacker might've had just a pinch of hallucinogen, for flavor).

But with their information and Beakley's guidance, they quickly located the right lab – Room B22. The password was "LovellC," which prompted yet another diatribe from Beakley – this time a faux news report on Titan Laboratories and the number of supervillains it managed to create in a short amount of time. None of them were paying attention at that point.

In the center of the room was what anyone without insider information might have mistaken for the world's oddest statue. It was of a duck in a brown overcoat, small and unassuming yet frozen as though he were aiming some sort of firearm – and on the podium in front of it was a strange, hi-tech looking device that would have fit exactly into its grip.

It was hooked up to a variety of devices and computers, which seemed to be checking it various signs of life: a pulse, electrical energy, brain activity, as well as some strange qualities that weren't so obvious… all negative. This might have seemed like a no-brainer, were one not aware that this statue had once been far more alive than its current state.

Bushroot walked over to the primary computer and checked it's manifest.

"Entry NA-22," he read. "Dr. Matthias Q. Codwell and HLEDD Device. Moved from Area 51 for further life energy research at the approval of Director Alisa Navis. Risk Assessment: Dangerous. Do Not Handle Without Supervision."

"How nicsse and convenient for usss. We ssshould thank thisss 'Nevisss.' Ssshe practically giftwrapped it for us."

Bushroot chuckled at the joke - realizing what he was doing just before Camille might react. By the time she turned his way he was stone faced and staring straight at the computer screen. "Not quite so simple. I bet SHUSH has been bringing benign old cases like this in and out of this place like clockwork ever since she took over. They get reviewed, re-stamped and sent right on back to the vault. It's routine. I used to see it all the time at the university."

 _"Benign?"_ They could hear Beakley chuckling over the line. _"This nut's rampage was a top story five counties over!"_

"And he's not going anywhere now, is he?"

"Ha!" Camille grinned. "The kind of routine that makesss it all the better for usss to get our handsss on them!"

Quackerjack's voice came in a little louder on the radio. It sounded like he was shouting, so that he could be heard. Beakley could be heard yelping at the sudden sound. _"She'll probably think twice about outsourcing her routines after tonight. This place really isn't up to code. I mean, two break ins in one night? Ha!"_

Bushroot nodded, though a bit more cautiously than the others. In the background, they could hear Beakley taking a swing as Quackerjack over the radio, but they all decided to ignore it. "All the more reason we have to do this now."

"Wait a tick, mate!" Rowe shouted suddenly, making the others jump. Three sets of eyes shot in his direction. "Did you even hear that? Are we just going to ignore the fact that Area 51 exists? Since when?" He waved his hands wildly and started jumping up and down, looking a lot like a child who knew an exciting secret. When nobody else reacted, he gaped at them mid-rant. "Why am I the only one who cares? It raises so many questions!"

Bushroot tilted his head, smiling patronizingly. "Does it? We're already in a top secret government facility full of crazy mad science, some of which is literally from space. Also, I've actually met aliens before."

 _"It would be useful information, were I still on the news. But since I'm not, and neither SHUSH nor its enemies respond well to extortion, it's not that important."_

"And I don't essspecially care," Camille snickered.

Rowe stared, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're all spoilsports, mate." He said, deflating.

 _"Sorry to interrupt Rowe's humiliating overreaction,"_ Beakley said in an abruptly formal tone, ignoring Rowe's grumbling. _"But I'm getting another… wait…"_

The group stood idle for a moment, waiting for Beakley to finish whatever she had to say, when suddenly the line exploded with a multitude of shouts and rants and various threats directed towards someone they couldn't see. At first they thought it was Quackerjack, but then they could vaguely hear him egging her on. Only a few choice phrases could be caught through the whole rant, such as _"idiot!,"_ _"incompetent excuse for a criminal mastermind!"_ or most audibly: _"if it were up to me, you'd never work in this town again!"_

The tirade went on for some time, during which they could do nothing but stand around awkwardly and share nervous glances. After several minutes, she ended the call with an audible click - but it took her a few more moments to calm herself down. When she finally did speak, it was with a very controlled tone.

 _"Status report from Cementheat,"_ she said, as casually as if the preceding rant hadn't even happened.

"D-dare we ask?" Bushroot winced.

Beakley sighed. In the background, they could hear Quackerjack laughing. " _The good news is, he's got everyone's attention and Darkwing Duck is following him just like we planned."_ She paused for dramatic effect – a habit from her news days that in situations like this was actually proving to be rather annoying. _"The bad news is, that's not actually good news. According to that halfwit, between Darkwing Duck, Frogduck, the newcomer and the cops, the chase has gone completely out of his control. And it's heading straight in your direction."_

The room froze. Camille and Bushroot hissed and groaned under their breaths, Bushroot even burying his face in his hand. Rowe, on the other hand, didn't bother to restrain his reaction. "Here?! Darkwing's coming HERE?! But… he had one job! One bloody job! By the fur, this was supposed to be simple!"

 _"That's what_ _ **I**_ _said."_

Camille rolled her eyes. "Yesss, we heard."

 _"Haw haw."_

Seeing that the risk this posed could make the group lose focus, Bushroot tentatively held out arms out and gestured for everyone to calm down. "So it's crunch time. So what? He's not here yet. So let's just do what we came here to do."

He tapped a combination into the computer, and the HLEDD's podium lit up. There was a loud * _ **clik**_ _*,_ and the device popped out of its restraints.

Rowe grabbed it off the pedestal and turned it over in his hands, until he found what vaguely looked like a power button, pressing it without waiting for any of the others to say otherwise. He guessed right – and it didn't blow them all up, which was a plus. Evidently the Institute had gotten around to doing at least some testing with it after all, as the HLEDD's functions almost instantly came online.

Grinning, Rowe tossed it around in his hand and practiced "aiming" it around at nothing.

"Good point, mate," he said, training the HLEDD's sights on the statue of Dr. Codwell. "There's nothing stopping us from nabbing the scientist and getting out of here way before he gets on our case. Especially with a whole room fulla patsies down the hall to take the blame."

 _"Um… about that…"_

As a person who had just seriously tempted fate, Rowe made the appropriate response: a full body flinch. "Don't say it, mate"" He said, whining. "Don't even think about it!"

 _"Sorry, but I can't. More bad news, bosses. And Camille, I guess."_

Rowe didn't even bother to say "I ain't your boss" this time. He just hung his head and let it happen. "Fine… just hit us, Beakley."

 _"Those 'patsies' don't look like they're going to be good little prisoners in there. The Eggmen discovered Bushroot's little trick with the door. It's keeping them in, but they seem prepared. And they're taking the meteor shard out of its containment. That's bad, right?"_

"What?!" Camille shouted. The color of Agent Quacker's feathers shifted rapidly. "I'm getting out of here!"

Rowe snapped at her, still working through nervous mood from all the bad news. "Stop worrying, the room is still shielded!" She glared at him, but he only rolled his eyes at her. "Plus, it took a few hours for that thing to take effect even when it was the size of a tank. I don't know what they plan to do with it that teeny tiny piece."

 _"Don't be so sure."_ Beakley interrupted. _"They've brought some kind of machine with them that they hooked it into. They turned it on and now they're… changing. All scaly and huge. Of course, as a reporter I rarely get squeamish, but…"_

Another flinch. "How bad is it?"

 _"Well…"_

There was a loud boom from down the hall. The walls shook slightly. The band of thieves exchanged alarmed looks.

"And what was that, mate?"

 _"That would be the sound of a half-duck, half-dinosaur crashing against a barricaded door."_

"The mulch won't be able to hold out against that!" Bushroot said frantically.

"Okay, pressed for time. We get it." Rowe grumbled. He stared at the HLEDD in his hands, and then back at Codwell – who he had been seconds away from reviving. "Do we have to drag him outta here, or can we just nab the device and go? It'd be faster without him."

"We're not even sure that this thing can do what we want it do," Bushroot replied. "Given time I can probably figure it out, but…"

"But why take chances?" Rowe sighed. "Wonderful, mate. Dragging along the poindexter it is."

"Hey!" Camille hissed. "I take offensssse to that! I usssed to be a poindexsster!"

"Ditto."

 _"Not me."_

"Apologies later, mate!" Acting quickly, Rowe took aim and fired the HLEDD straight at Codwell's chest. A glowing energy crackled around him, and the petrified duck shuddered for a moment before collapsing into heap upon the floor.

"M-my word, where… where am I?" Codwell's words words were slurred and groggy. He looked around, in a daze. "Is this some kind of laboratory?"

"Science jail, basssically. We're busssting you out." Camille explained, unhelpfully cheery. "You're welcome!"

"Where are the others? My creations. My subjects…"

Another smash could be heard from down the hall. Rowe grunted impatiently. "Your what, mate? Listen, we don't have time for this. We have to-"

"… wait, I remember. Darkwing… the Avenger…" Codwell's teeth gritted. He stared down at the ground, a vicious growl entering is voice. "They killed them. I gave them life, and he and SHUSH…" He looked up, perhaps clearly realizing at once whose lab he must have been in. In doing so, he finally took a good look at the people who had rescued him. Upon registering the sight of Bushroot and Rowe's faces, he jumped back. "… wait. I know you! You're the Fearsome Five! Er… Two, that is. You're criminals! What are you doing here?"

"And you're the Animator," Camille said stuffily. "Ssso pot and kettle, my friend!"

"The who? What are you-"

Rowe growled. "We don't have time for this, mate!" He grabbed Codwell by the arm and forcibly hoisted him to his feet. "Let's talk later, mate! After we avoid getting eaten by dinosaurs!"

"Dinosaurs? That seems a bit impractical, don't you-"

Codwell's objection was interrupted by a well timed and wonderfully bone chilling roar in the distance.

"Right." Codwell squeaked. "Dinosaurs. I'll stick with you then? But…" He trailed off, his eyes drifting to the object still in Rowe's hands. His own hands tightened. "My HLEDD…"

Rowe drew his arm away. He may not have met Codwell before, but he had definitely seen the news report. "Not until I'm sure you won't shoot anything with it. We don't need a community of knick knacks to look after."

"Are you insane?" Codwell shouted, and his tone and manner suddenly became far more visceral than they initially seemed. "Think of all the life I could give to the world in just a short-"

"Dinosaurs, mate!" Rowe roared over Codwell's speech, his eye twitching. On cue once again, another wall-shaking smash echoed from the distance.

Reluctantly, Codwell drew back again and withdrew his objection, though he still threw rueful glances at the HLEDD from time to time. Just to be sure, Rowe tucked it more securely under his arm.

Meanwhile, Bushroot was busy ignoring the two of them and drilling Camille on what to do next. "I've been thinking, and this might actually work in our favor. In fact, it's exactly what we need!" he mused. "When we leave, you hang back Camille. I want you to morph into a dinosaur yourself and start ripping this place to shreds – the hallways, the floor, and especially this lab. Mangle the machines and topple over everything you can – make it look like a rampage went on in here!"

Camille tapped her chin, working through the idea. "And that way, FOUL will get all the blame!" She grinned. "You're sssuch a geniusss, my little flower!"

"Er… right." Bushroot said, continuing on. "We're going to try and sneak out when FOUL smashes their way out of here. But since we're not sure if that device they have amplifying the meteor radiation is still active, you turn into something tiny and slip out after they leave, when nobody's looking."

This was a very practical plan to address an entirely platonic concern. Thus, it naturally had the completely wrong effect on the lovesick lizard. "And you're thinking of my sssafety!" Camille squealed. She threw her arms around him, which may have been ill-advised given that she was still in the burly form of Agent Quacker. It wasn't until she heard him wheeze in pain that she realized what she was doing and gently set him down. Codwell had to catch him before he collapsed onto the ground.

"You can count on me, my sssweet nectar!" She said, morphing into a large raptor right out of an action movie. She flashed dozens of sharp, vicious looking teeth. "Let'sss see them recover any of their preciousss data after thisss!"

With that, she sunk her dinosaur teeth into the nearest computer and ripped a massive chunk of it asunder. The others watched her literally tear into the room, momentarily oblivious to the sounds of smashing and distant roars down the hall.

"Mate," Rowe said slowly. "Good luck. That's maybe the third scariest lady I've ever met in my entire life."

"Tell me about it. I don't even have bones any more, but I think I felt something crack…"

 _"Let me guess, I don't rate on that list?'"_ Beakley droned.

"You're not scary until you get a new gimmick, mate!" Rowe joked, shooting a cheeky grin at the nearest camera.

 _"I'll show you scary, you meatheaded-"_

"Take the piss out of one another when we're back home, please," Bushroot sighed again.

"That sigh sounds oddly practiced," Codwell observed. "Do you break up these fights between teammates often?"

Bushroot looked flatly at him, before turning to the rest of the group without responding. "On my mark, I'm going to release the mulch. Once that happens, this will all go down very quickly and we'll all have to act right away. So I want to make sure that everyone is prepared for what is certainly going to be a tense and trying-"

 _"Update from Cementhead. Darkwing and the imbecile caravan are almost there."_

"Caution to the wind, then! And… break!"

* * *

 _Meanwhile, Just Outside,_

As all of this had been going on, Agent Lancetail remained outside, sipping coffee and staying completely oblivious as he kept what he mistakenly thought was an effective vigil. While it occurred to him that "Agent Quacker" was taking an oddly long time delivering his package, he dismissed it: the duck he knew was an accomplished SHUSH agent. If there was a delay, it was almost certainly for a good reason.

Or so he thought for nearly an hour, until the moment he glanced up the street and saw something that made him spit out his coffee: it was the spitting image of Agent Quacker coming scampering toward him wearing nothing but boxers - and looking quite waterlogged at that. He ran up to Lancetail's station and collapsed against the counter, so out of breath that he could barely speak.

Lancetail could barely speak either, but for a very different reason. "W-what? Quacker?! But… what are you doing? How did you get out here?"

"Ran… all the way." Quacker half-said, half-panted. "They took my communicator… couldn't call headquarters. Had to stop them…"

"Wait, who took what?! When was this? I just saw… you… go in…"

Lancetail, for all that he had made several titanic mistakes that night, was still a trained agent, and was very quick on the uptake. He trailed off, the wheels in his head turning as he put all the pieces together into a very unsettling picture. He turned to where he had seen "Agent Quacker" enter the building, whispering under his breath.

"Ah, crap on a perch..."

Without delay, Lancetail vaulted over the counter and helped the real Quacker to his feet, shouting frantically in his face. "Quick. Tell me the first delivery you ever made here!"

"… piece of a Mertzian spaceship, I think." Quacker replied, catching on. "After the customary six weeks, I rotated it back to storage."

"Crap in nine ways!"

Quacker gave him an odd look.

Lancetail ignored it, sighing. "Obviously, something unauthorized is going on in there," Lancetail said. "Let's get to it before-"

His worries were interrupted by a savage _**"ROOOOOOAAAAR!"**_

Suddenly the walls of the Institute burst open with a loud crash, and out of the wall stormed a creature at least two times as large as a normal duck. It sported a bizarre mismatch of feathers and scales, jagged reptilian teeth, and twisted but hulking prehistoric frame.

In short, it was – unbelievably, but undeniably – a dinosaur. Or at least, horribly close to one. There was only just enough duck left in them to show what they used to be.

Several similar creatures scurried out from behind it. Each wore tatters of what was immediately recognizable to anyone at SHUSH as a FOUL uniform.

For a moment, neither Lancetail or Quacker could find it in them to move.

"… b-before that happens, perhaps?" Quacker stammered.

"Something like that, yeah."

The mutant dino-ducks advanced towards the two comparatively tiny ducks, unnervingly hungry looks in their eyes. Lancetail and Quacker dropped into a fighting stance and stepped forward to meet them, preparing to hold the line no matter what the cost.

(Amidst the distracting risk of being chomped down upon, neither noticed an otter, a mutant plant-duck and a duck in an overcoat hightailing it into the distance…)

Lancetail took a deep breath, trying not to think of the irony. After all, he had wanted more action. This is the kind of thing he was trained for, supposedly. "Ever fight a dinosaur before?"

Quacker shrugged. "Not unless you count my fifth grade diorama. Especially not in my skivvies. First time for everything, though."

"Especially when FOUL is involved. Hopefully, not the last time." He paused. "Think we can this?"

Quacker shook his head. The lead mutant was getting closer: so much that they could feel it's hot, stinking breath and see every detail of its jagged teeth. The others weren't far behind. "Too many," he grunted.

"Just checking." Lancetail sighed. He pressed a button on his uniform, activating an SOS. "Well, hopefully we'll be able to stall long enough for HQ to send reinforcements."

It wasn't a particularly promising idea, but it was all they had. As SHUSH agents, it was their duty to act. So the two took one last look at each other, and prepared for the final rush.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!"

Purple smoke filled the air. The dinosaurs took a step back. Even feral and monstrous, all criminals knew what that sound meant. As did the SHUSH agents: unflappable though they were, neither could resist a big, cheesy grin.

"Or maybe someone will show up on their own!" Lancetail cheered. "That saves us the dilemma of calling him in and landing an inquiry from top brass."

"I am the getaway car that crashes through your pane glass window!"Their cavalry continued. "I am… DINOSAURS?!" There was a stunned pause. Not without reason – the two agents had done the same thing, after all. "I mean… I am Darkwing Duck!"

From a slightly different location, they heard a different, female voice. "I am the heir to the cape! I am… keen gear, they really are dinosaurs!"This voice didn't miss a beat, and went with a somewhat more excited. "I am the Crimson Avenger!"

A duo of caped blurs swooped overhead. Gas pellets flew through the air and hit the closest dino-duck in the eye. It stumbled back with a roar, lashing out wildly at a threat it couldn't see, but the blurs had already dipped around its legs and begun tossing similar explosives at the other mutants.

Just like before, Lancetail and Quacker stopped for a moment: this time to watch the show.

"I've never been so glad to beak protocol," Quacker said, laughing. "I like our chances a little better now."

Lancetail cracked his knuckles. "Then let's not leave them alone! How about we remind these lizards who's extinct?"

Quacker nodded, in total agreement despite facing this situation with nothing but underwear. The two caught each other's eye, took a deep breath, and leapt into the fray with a fierce battle cry…

* * *

 _Just Down The Block,_

Rowe and Bushroot sprinted toward a nearby plaza, Codwell in tow. Before, they had dismissed this route as a possible rendezvous point due to how close it was to the Institute, but hectic situations call for crazy compromises.

Once it was clear they were out of sight of SHUSH, FOUL or Darkwing, they hurried into the square and took a position behind some foliage.

Codwell was well out of breath. The other two let him drop to the ground and get his bearings. "I don't… know… how you… handle all that!" he said, panting.

Bushroot gave him a sympathetic look. "As a fellow scientist turned supervillain, I can relate. Takes a lot to get used to." He himself leaned against a tree, nestlings his feet into the soils. He grinned as he felt his own energy return as well. "Course, it doesn't hurt to have a photosynthetic metabolism either."

Codwell grimaced at the word "supervillain," but ignored his bruised ego. He stared at Bushroot, marveling at the plant-duck's physiology. "Fascinating…" "I wonder if your mutation has to do with a manipulation of your body's natural life energy! Perhaps I could…"

Bushroot was already well ahead of him. "No."

"But…"

"No!"

Meanwhile, Rowe was tuning into the radio, making sure "Camille, d'you get out mate? Whatever device they plugged that meteor into, it doesn't seem to be putting out radiation any more. I think you're in the clear!"

 _"Your concssern is noted."_ Camille's voice hissed curtly over the line. She didn't sound particularly appreciative. _"I am already sssneaking out of the Inssstitute asss a fly, and I'm ssstaying far away from this messss."_

"Understood." He nodded, unnecessarily given that she couldn't actually see him. "It's nearly over anyway."

 _"I'm aware of that. I will sssee you back at the Dive."_

Beakley's dry voice chimed in. _"I'll alert the media."_

 _"If that was sssupposssed to be funny…"_

Rowe and Bushroot both reached up and turned off their radios at the same time.

"Y'know mate," Rowe said, turning to Bushroot, "one of these days I'll have to ask why she talks the same way no matter what body she's in."

"Don't," Bushroot chuckled. "Trust me. With these kinds of mutations, you don't want to know."

There was a sudden "HEY!" from the next block over. Everyone turned to see Cementhead jogging up the street, lugging an extremely large diamond under his arm and looking far too chipper.

Rowe and Bushroot could have killed him. Luckily for their stone comrade, they were too professional to do so in broad daylight.

"Speaking of which…" Bushroot sighed.

Unlike Codwell, Cementhead was not out of breath – a benefit of being made of solid concrete. He was staring then down the road at the distant battle – where sounds of roaring dinosaurs and vague explosions were still audible – looking a mix of disbelieving and impressed. He barely acknowledged the groups, which is probably how he could be so oblivious to the glares he was receiving.

"Criminy!" He said, laughing. "You boys are crazy, I ever tell you that? What were you doing before I got here?"

"Our job." Rowe said flatly. He jabbed his finger into Cementhead's chest, trying not to wince as he struck solid rock. "What were you doing, mate? We just barely left Darkwing behind! You coulda ruined the whole bit!"

"Hey!" Cementhead shouted. "You've got no idea what I was dealing with! These mooks are crazy out here."

"I'm sure they are." Bushroot said quietly. "So I say we settle this later. Let's get out of here before-"

A green blur suddenly swooped between them, dipped under Cementhead and then leapt up into the nearest tree. It took Cementhead a few moments to realize his diamond as missing. It took only slightly longer to figure out who had taken it.

"It's mine! Mine! My preciousss!" Frogduck squealed, sitting on a tree branch as easily as if it were an armchair (on the ground, Bushroot sighed and started holding his temple). He hugged the diamond like an old friend, rocking back and forth with excitement. He only looked up when his pet frog hopped on top of it as well, croaking. "Sorry, Keith! I meant ours!"

"See what I mean?" Cementhead pleaded, throwing out his arms in exasperation. "Crazy!"

Rowe and Codwell this all watched with vague interest. Only Bushroot seemed interested in the mayhem happening just a few block away.

"I have no context for whatever that's a punchline to, but I resent it!" Frogduck declared dramatically - his childish laughter not helping his case in the slightest. "But in any case, finally the Fuchsia Frog is Frogduck's!" He laughed again, holding the clearly white gemstone up into the sky like a beacon. "It will be the perfect hood ornament for the Thunderfrog!"

Cementhead's eye twitched. "Fushia Frog? Hood ornament? Thunderfrog?"

"Of course, old beansprout!" Frogduck grinned down at him. Cementhead growled, cracking his knuckles menacingly, but Frogduck didn't seem to care. "With its world famous amphibian-shaped ketchup stain on the inside, the Fuchsia Frog is the greatest frog-related trinket in the city."

"Except it's not fuschia, that's not a ketchup stain, and there's nothing frog-related about it ya mook!" Cementhead stormed at Frogduck's tree, rolling up imaginary sleeves. "Now give it back!"

"Nuh-uh!" Frogduck huffed and turned away from him.

Steaming with rage, Cementhead grabbed the tree's trunk and prepared to pull it from its roots. Bushroot quickly dashed between them, trying to push him back. He couldn't budge Cementhead an inch, but it got the idea across. "What we mean is, fine! You win, Frogduck!" He shouted back to Frogduck. "You can have it!"

Cementhead rounded on Bushroot. "Are you crazy? You know what I went through to get that thing? I deserve it!"

"You do remember that you were meant to be a distraction, don't you?" Bushroot continued to push against him, to little affect. "Let it go, we need to-"

"Malheureusement, your ami is correct!" Everyone's attention twisted around to the extremely French sound of yet another newcomer. Whoever it was, he was dressed head to toe in totally concealing black armor. A large sword was hanging from his hilt, of the same tint – a very strange color: it looked less as thought it were painted black, and more as if there were simply no colors there there at all. It was unsettling to look directly at it. "You have given moi ze nasty time, chazing me around zis terrible metropole. I demand zatisfaction!" He continued. His accent was almost too strong to understand, but his intention couldn't be clearer. "And zat jewel, s'il vous plait!"

"You! I thought I lost you a mile back!" Cementhead said, tightening his fists. He turned to back to Bushroot and Rowe. "He's the guy who was walking through walls earlier."

"You cannot evade Le Chevalier Noir!"

Rowe and Bushroot groaned. "So, mate…" He muttered over a slack jaw. "A thief wearing actual knight armor. I wish I could say it was the weirdest thing I've seen today."

Bushroot glanced at him, shrugging. "Can't we talk about this?" He stepped forward timidly. "Surely we can make a deal."

"I'm not giving up the Fuchsia Frog!" Frogduck shouted out, in the most unhelpful way possible. "You can't make me!"

"Shut up, Frogduck!" Bushroot shot out of the side of his mouth, but it was too late. The mystery thief was incensed now.

"Oui, mon ami!" With a malevolent chuckle, he reached to his side and pulled out his sword. There was no sound as it grazed the holster or moved through the air. He let it fall lazily to the ground, but it made no contact. Instead, where it landed everything that it grazed seemed to disappear with an unsettling _**SCHLOOORP.**_

He whipped the sword up to his mask. They could practically hear the smile on his face.

"Let uz… 'talk.'"

Frogduck hopped to his feet and yawned, as if bored. "Nah. Keith and I don't really want to get into a fight right now. Our favorite show is on. Can we reschedule?"

In response, the knight dashed towards Frogduck's treetop perch and swiped at the trunk. A large chunk of it vanished away with another _**SCHLOOORP,**_ and the tree dropped the ground. Frogduck jumped off right away, but the knight was at his heels in a moment, swinging his sword.

"Hey! Rude!" Frogduck squealed. He did another quick leap to avoid the attack, but in doing so the diamond slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. "Wait, the Fuchsia Frog! Nooooo!"

He dove for the diamond, but the knight was already there standing in front of it. Frogduck hit the dirt rather than attempt to charge – he looked up at the nearly seven feet of intimidating armor, and his game suddenly seemed a lot less fun. "Oh, fine. You can have it. I'm out."

And without another word, he grabbed Keith and hopped out of sight.

Rowe stared at the last spot they saw him, blinking. "Did he really just leave us here, mate?"

"You're surprised?" Bushroot shrugged. "He's not part of the group. He has no obligation to stay and help us do anything."

"He iz wize. You, mon ami, are not."

Bushroot frowned. "I guess if you want to do this, we have to do this. But I still say we should just go already." He threw his hands out. "Okay, pals! Do your stuff!"

The grass in the plaza suddenly sprung into action, growing into long, pointed tendrils and shooting directly at the knight – intending to either stab him, wrap him up, or both at once. Rowe charged, so he could back him up with a tackle at the right time.

Meanwhile, Cementhead maneuvered around the fight, trying to find a straight shot to the diamond while everyone was distracted.

The Knight stood there, making no attempt to dodge or defend himself, confusing his opponents – but, only for a moment. For when the grass made contact with his armor, instead of wrapping around it – or even bouncing off – it disappeared with the same _**SHLOOORP**_ as before.

Bushroot winced in pain as he felt his mental link with the grass sever. "ROWE, BREAK OFF!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, and just in the nick of time. Rowe twisted to the side, tumbling painfully into the dirt. The knight advanced, and he twisted to his feet and hopped aside just in time to avoid getting a nasty trim.

Rowe beat a hasty retreat, regrouping with Bushroot. They stared at the knight with newfound awe. "What in the…"

Cementhead scratched the back of his head, sheepish. "Yeah… it totally slipped my mind," he said awkwardly. "His armor's got the trick as his sword. That's how he walked through those walls. Couse, I wasn't gonna fight a guy who can do that outright. Don't have the resources, and all."

"And you wait until _now_ to tell us?" Bushroot yelled. "What if one of us had tried to grab him?"

Cementhead shrugged.

"This ain't fair!" Rowe shouted, continuing Bushroot's rant. "How are we supposed to beat a guy who's literally takin' scoops outta the landscape, mate?!" He tapped his ear, turning his radio back on. "Can you tell me what we're dealing with here, Beakley?!"

 _"Actually, that part's easy. I heard more than enough about a criminal with these credentials back in my journalist days. Didn't take long to find a file. His name's Le Chevalier Noir, or 'the Black Knight.' He's a jewel thief."_

This was all very obvious, and Rowe had neither the time nor the opportunity to waste precious seconds with things he already knew. Not when dealing with an angry criminal with the apparent touch of death. "You don't say, mate!"

 _"No need to get snippy."_ She huffed. Rowe was too busy dodging the Knight's fist to snap back. " _As I was saying, he's formally listed as 'identity unknown,' but practically everyone knows he's actually a French socialite named Arpin Lusene. They just can't ever make anything stick. Funny how that always seems to-"_

Rowe leapt back, finding only momentary refuge behind another tree. "Useful, mate! Something useful!"

Beakley paused. _"Right. Well, he used to be some kind of catburgling mastermind. He once robbed half the Ganderheim. That is, until he got his hands on something called 'Omnisolve.' It's an actual, factual universal solvent."_

"Universal solvent?!" Bushroot gasped. Codwell, hearing him react, scrambled further away from the fight. Even Bushroot involuntarily took a step away.

Rowe, on the other hand, was still lost. "Isn't water a universal solvent? Sounds harmless."

"Water is called a universal solvent because it dissolves more than anything else, but it's not truly universal," Bushroot explained through nervously clenched teeth. "A true universal solvent would dissolve anything on contact. It's actual rather brilliant."

"Wait!" Rowe threw his hands up. "Back up a tick, mate! Anything?! Including the bits and pieces we need to live!?"

Bushroot grimaced. "Yeah, probably."

"Plagues and pestilence!"

 _"That's right."_ Camille continued. _"Don't ask me how, but he managed to coat a suit of armor and some weapons in the stuff. Then, naturally, he went straight after Scrooge McDuck's Money Bin."_

"As the crazy ones tend to do," Rowe sighed. "Why can't these yahoos stay in Duckburg?"

"Ah would watch who you zay iz a 'yahoo,' mon ami." the Black Knight said, leering. He had apparently had enough of letting his enemies talk. "Thiz waz a calling. An evoluzion, eef you weel. Why zettle for being an average zupairthief, when ah could be unbeatable!"

"Isn't 'average superthief' an oxymoron?" Bushroot pointed out.

Rowe nudged him. "In this town, mate?"

"Point."

 _"He makes a good case."_ Beakley added. _"Why fight security systems when you can just walk right through them? Why sneak away from cops when bullets literally disappear before hurting you? I'm a little sad I didn't think of it."_ Quackerjack's said something witty but inaudible in the background. A second later, they could hear a crash as Beakley threw something at him. _"I'll have you know bugs to disintegrating armor is perfectly reasonable evolution in design!"_

"I'm sure it is," Rowe said irritably. "So how do we win?"

"You don't." The Black Knight painted his sword at them. "Ah will take mah livre de chair, and mah diamond, and zat iz zat!"

"Interesting idea. But I just got a better one!" Codwell stepped out from behind his hiding place to stand between Bushroot and Rowe. "Seriously, I have an idea! Give me the HLEDD!"

The mental image of a maniacal Codwell triumphantly leaving them behind atop an army of animated knick knacks made that decision rather quick. "Not happening, mate."

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Codwell hissed. "We're about to get our faces dissolved off! Unless you two three you can fight something you can't even touch, you'll have to trust me!"

"We don't need ya, ya little twig!" Cementhead shouted, though nobody missed the way he was backing away from the fight, eyeing ways to grab the diamond and escape. "Of all the nerve!"

"And what can you do but punch really hard! Fat lot of good that does now!" Codwell retorted. "Listen to me!"

Rowe shared a glance with Bushroot, who gave an assenting shrug. Vindicated slightly – at least, he could share the blame with someone else this time. With a long sigh, Rowe tossed the HLEDD to Codwell and stepped aside.

Codwell smiled triumphantly at the prize in his hands, with an exhilarated twitch playing on his lips. He cradled it to his face like an old friend, whispering lovingly to it. "It's good to have you back…" he sighed deeply, feeling over every groove and detail.

Everybody stopped and stared at him, even the Knight. Rowe facepalmed, wincing. "I hope I don't regret this…" He groaned under his breath.

Codwell ignored their awkward stares. With his obsessive attachment sated, he jauntily strolled forward, between the Black Knight and the Five. Sounding almost giddy, he lifted the HLEDD level up to the Knight's chest. "Maybe you should leave," he said teasingly.

The Knight was also amused by this new wrinkle. He stepped up to meet Codweel, spreading his hands wide as if to make himself a bigger target. "And what do you zink you can do to moi?" He laughed. "Ze Omnizolve doez not zimply protect against ze phyzeecal! Want to gamble zat you can turn against me?"

Codwell blanched. "Such a nasty thing, joining my subjects? Eugh. It could hurt someone. Even you aren't bluffing." He steadied his grip around the HLEDD's trigger, but any intimidation factor was lost – now that he had effectively confirmed he wouldn't shoot.

The Knight laughed again. "Well zen, zat iz zat, no?" He raised a single fist, priming for a light jab. The other winced: with Omnisolve, the slightest punch could have deadly results.

But Codwell held his worry well. "No, all I need is a little observation, and a little logic."

Codwell suddenly whipped the HLEDD downward and blasted the ground underneath the Knight's feet.

That small patch of Earth started to crack, and the Knight's eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. "Quoi?" He shouted, and he tried too late step back. But the dirt he stood on, now freshly animated, shifted under him of its own accord. He wobbled back and forth, trying with difficulty to keep his balance.

Codwell continued to talk over the Knight's distress. "Your suit may be coated in solvent, but you still need to stand on solid ground. You'd be a fool to cover your feet. Still, that's got to be hard."

"Arretez!" The Knight said, his voice wavering. "Stop zis!"

"No, no!" Rowe was no longer facepalming. He, Bushroot and Cementhead leaned forward, barely believing their eyes. "Don't stop now!"

"You heard them." Codwell grinned. "A skilled catburglar like you is probably an old expert at keeping your feet on the floor, but what if said floor didn't cooperate?!"

Codwell zapped the ground again, and more of it lurched this time. The Knight fell to his knees, but just barely managed to stop himself before his legs touched the ground. He pulled himself up, clumsily waving his sword in an attempt to take Codwell down.

Codwell simply stepped out of range. "You had your chance, Lusene! Now you're exiled!" He declared, waving his hands with a theatrical flair. "That's a little dramatic, but I like the sound of it." He gripped his hand into a fist, with an air of finality to it. "Go, my subjects!"

At Codwell's command, the ground exploded into animated globs of dirt. This fissure was far more dramatic than the first ones - cracking and rumbling as a gaping pit began to open in the middle of the plaza. The Black Knight was unable to stand straight, let alone jump or make any other move that could have gotten him away in time. He pitched forward, and as he did so the rest of the living dirt jerked out from under him – leaving the remaining un-animated soil behind to get dissolved in its stead.

The Knight didn't bother putting his hands out to stop himself – with solvent coating his limbs, he was essentially free falling without a net.

"He'll sink right into the ground!" Bushroot realized.

Cementhead's jaw dropped. "I take it back. This was a good idea."

But the Knight had realized this as well. "Non!" He shouted in protest. With nothing but a moment to act, he had no choice but to make a move. But then, even in the middle of a sheer fall a skilled thief could pull out the most miraculous of graces.

There was a quick snap from the armor, and mid-topple the cowl detached from the rest of the body. In the span of a second, a lanky wolf slipped through the top of the armor and – with a twisting leap - flipped out and away, just in time. A second later there was a pair of faint ** _SHLOOORP_ _s_ _,_** and then the Black Knight's sword and armor were gone – fallen into the ground like stones into a lake.

All that was left behind was the wolf himself, having slipped out of danger with nothing but a foppish suit and the solvent-soaked helmet over his head.

"You zink zis is ze first time ah have dealt weet zat trick?" He hissed, panting. Even without seeing his face, he was obviously enraged.

It had to be said, even by his enemies: it was an impressive maneuver. Bushroot actually clapped, and even Codwell was frozen at the sight of his plan not quite working. "That was pretty slick," Bushroot said slyly. "For someone who relies on gimmicks, anyway."

Rowe ignored them both, as he was paying more attention to the hole the armor vanished into. "Won't those keep falling down until they hit the center of the Earth or something? Is that bad, mate? I think that's bad."

"Nah." Bushroot explained. "They may absorb anything, but the Earth is still… well.. the Earth. Pressure and heat will take care of those before we see any volcanoes or anything."

"Non again, ami!" The Knight growled. "Ah have fazzed far more worzy opponents zan you in mah time, and am alwayz prepared"

"I can believe it…" Bushroot groaned.

"Zere is a hidden propeller zystem on mah ahrmor and zword! Zey will both be back in mah garderobe before long!"

"Have you just been ignoring all the things I've been saying? The place is going to be crawling with cops in a few minutes. Given that we should all have left ages ago, you'll have your hands full getting this past them."

"Zey can barely tooch mah gear, and will zertainly be unable to recover zem! In any case, zat is ze least of yoor worries!"

"Oh, come on! We're tired and weary. You're down to a coif and a cheap suit. Can't we all just go home?"

"Non a third time, ami! Ah will ztill zmahsh you fahr zis indeegnity!"

The fight had distracted all of them from the situation down the block, and one of the dinosaur-crossed Eggmen had snuck up on them.

"Qu'est-ce que!"

"Hey, a dinosaur!" Cementhead said obviously. He didn't seem particularly fazed, but then when one has skin of solid rock they tend not to panic. "Isn't that one of those FOU-"

Rowe quickly jabbed Cementhead in the side. It did far more damage to his poor, fragile non-stone arm than to his cohort, but again he tried not to wince. This petty fight between thieves aside, FOUL was the biggest threat. If the Eggmen retained any memories whatsoever from this rampage, they couldn't risk them having any tiny clue about when or why they were really here.

"Oh my!" He said, overly loudly and in an obviously nervous monotone. He furiously gestured for the others to play along. "Ahem, mate! Look at us, in the middle of an unremarkable, every day jewel heist, when what should we see but a dinosaur in our midst! Just when you think it's safe to commit crimes!"

"I wish I could say this is the first time," Bushroot sighed. "Though at least this one isn't a plant eater..."

"Lucky sodding you, mate."

The Knight was frozen. His bravado beat a hasty 180. "Le dinosaure?!" He stammered. "Quoi..?"

He took step backward. "Zis is too much! Too much! Ah am a zimple thief! It iz not een mah emploi to deal with les geants, la fou Terre, et now ze monsters!" Somehow managing to sound haughty even in a panic, he looked over to the Five and took a rushed but oddly polite bow. "Tres bien. La journee est a vous!"

With that, he turned tail and scampered down the street, leaving the diamond, his armor and any vengeful thoughts behind. The Five glanced after him, but in true superthief fashion the moment he slipped behind the smallest object, he was gone.

"Neat." Bushroot deadpanned. He sighed in relief. "Well, that's him taken care of, at least. Now what about the dinosaur?"

Rowe grinned. "With the cavalry gone, that part's simple mate!"

He leapt over to where Frogduck dropped the gigantic diamond. This put him in the dino-duck's personal space – and it began to pursue him – but this only lined it up just right for his next move. Once it was in position, Rowe took aim and with a deft fling tossed the diamond directly into the mutant-Eggman's oversized mouth. It began to gag and choke as the solid gemstone lodged itself into its throat – not big enough to completely suffocate it, but nowhere near small enough to pass through.

The mutant fell to the ground, retching and coughing in heavy, hacking breaths. It would not be bothering anyone else for the moment – perfect for slipping away from this quagmire with no further problems.

Cementhead's mouth hit the floor. "Hey! Are you nuts?!" He shouted. For a moment, it looked like he was fighting the urge to jump in after the diamond. "I was gonna get so rich off of-"

"Cry later! Run now, mate!" Rowe shoved Cementhead in the back. It didn't have the slightest effect. "Get going before it spits that thing up!"

"But-"

"NOW, SWENLIN!"

Cememthead scowled, but he at least knew when to suck it up and follow an order. Reluctantly, he picked up Codwell – ignoring the scientist's protests – and hurried away.

"I worry about that guy, mate." Rowe said to Bushroot, eyeing the back of Cementhead's neck as the two followed behind.

"He's either an idiot or up to something. But then, aren't we all?" Bushroot added thoughtfully. "How was all that for 'simple,' huh?"

"Don't bring it up, mate." Rowe groaned. "We did get 'in and out.' You know, eventually."

"After all hell broke loose, sure." Bushroot noted, neither particularly happy nor upset about the madness they just went through. "Still, Codwell, at least, looks like he might do alright with our little club after all. What do you think?"

Rowe looked up at the uncomfortable prize hanging in Cementhead's arms. "I think you're right," he said. "The guys got a god complex something fierce, that's for sure, but who doesn't in this business? I think we can ding that out." An optimistic smile spread across his face. "Maybe this bloke isn't such a loose cannon after all. Working with him might turn out to not be so bad…"

* * *

 _The Fearsome Dive. Less Than A Day Later_

"I take it back, mate. This is the worst."

"Don't remind me."

It had only been six hours at most since the incident at the Dudly Duck Institute. Since then Codwell had been… busy. Giving the HLEDD back to the him proved to be a bad idea rather quickly, now that they were not running for their lives. Within a few minutes of returning to the Fearsome Dive, the mad scientist evidently couldn't hold it in any more and started animating parts of the club in droves.

Now the whole place was in total disarray. Beakley was at the bar, chasing down an uncooperative cup of wine. Cementhead was trying to watch television, but his set kept switching channels on him. A group of toughs who had come in for drinks were running from their barstools and Quackerjack – who was riding on top of one having the time of his life. Meanwhile Camille sat in a corner booth, laughing and sipping a mineral water.

Rowe and Bushroot stood at the center of it all, just staring at the insanity.

"We… should go talk to him…" Bushroot said numbly. Rowe glared at him.

"You think, mate?"

Downstairs, in Fearsome Five HQ, Codwell sat in a makeshift lab doing a routine maintenance check on the HLEDD. In front of him was the reason the Five had "invited" him in the first place: portrait of Melody Amber Phoenix – aka the supposedly late Splatter Phoenix - that their mystery employer had sent them.

When Rowe and Bushroot arrived a tv was running in the background, and Rowe couldn't help but burn a little over Codwell animating the bar's television but leaving his own untouched. On screen, they could see the chewed-up wreckage that was once the Dudly D. Duck Institute. Intrigued, they lingered in the doorway for a moment - Codwell's back was to them, so he couldn't see them anyway.

Instead of the face of Clive Ganderson, this report was being given by a vapid looking anchor with a handsome haircut. "… and this was the scene earlier today, as agents of FOUL attempted to attack a local eyesore that, our sources are telling us, was actually being used as a government storage facility. SHUSH has yet to release an official statement on the matter, and much remains unclear. What is clear, however, is that this disaster could not have been averted without the stalwart devotion of SHUSH personnel and the timely intervention of our own Darkwing Duck."

"At the time, Darkwing was responding to a minor robbery when his path took him into the danger zone, at which point he joined law enforcement agents Otis Quacker and Virgil Lancetail in subduing the group of FOUL Eggmen, who had metamorphosed themselves into mutant dinosaurs. Soon the entirety of his team were brought into the battle. Earlier, we cornered… I mean, met with Team Darkwing's own Crimson Avenger, and she had this to say."

The screen cut to a shot of a reporter with Crimson and Techno from earlier in the day. Crimson was not particularly enthusiastic about the interview – in fact she almost sounded bored. "We came. We saw. We fought some dinosaurs," she shrugged airily, as if that sort of thing were routine. Although, given the town she was active in…

"Mutant dino-ducks, Crimson," Techno automatically corrected her.

She turned very slowly, to gave him a blank look. He chuckled sheepishly. One could almost see him sweating. "I'm just saying!"

The feed suddenly cut back to the station. The anchor smiled cheerfully. "Sounds like yet another busy day for our city's protectors, but this channel would like to thank both them and SHUSH for keeping our city safe from international super-crime. In the wake of Negaduck's invasion, doom-saying analysts surmise that activity by these organizations has risen by at least…"

Bushroot and Rowe saw no use in paying attention any further. "No talk about us," Bushroot noted. "Looks like we actually got away with it," he said.

"Small miracles, huh?" Codwell said without turning around, surprising the two. They hadn't realized he knew they were there.

Rowe rounded on him – there was steam practically coming out of his ears. "Miracles? You wanna talk about miracles, mate?!" Rowe said stiffly, gesturing angrily to the back of Codwell's head. "You do realize that's a working bar upstairs, mate? We need furniture to keep up the whole 'serving customers' schtick!"

"And force those poor creatures into servitude?" Codwell gasped, still not looking up. "I think not! I created them, so I say they roam free."

"Nobody asked you to create them in the first place! You-"

"So, Codwell!" Bushroot suddenly interjected, giving Rowe an apologetic look. Rowe crossed his arms and turned away. "How go the adjustments to the HLEDD?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm almost done. You were right to find me. This is fascinating."

"I'm sure Splatter Phoenix will be happy to hear that." Bushroot said evenly.

"Aren't we all," Codwell puffed his chest out with pride. "I'd say I've had a good showing for my first day back, wouldn't you?"

"So far, I'd say." Bushroot said politely. While he held it in better, he was not any less wary around Codwell than Rowe. "The day's still young."

Missing his meaning, Codwell continued to gush about his studies. "To think this portrait has kept dormant for so many years, yet the amount of life energy coming off of it is phenomenal!" He gazed at the painting as though it were made of solid diamond. "I vaguely remember hearing about her, years ago, but you say she was made of paint?"

"Apparently. She seemed to be a regular woman, up until she got a faceful of turpentine."

"Fascinating! But it makes sense. Sort of." Codwell said. "She could create creatures from sheer life energy and paint, why wouldn't that include herself? Whoever created this was a genius, pure and simple." He blushed a little bit. "I'm a little jealous."

"Sure, mate." Rowe waved his hand dismissively. "So how do we turn the darn thing on?"

"Oh, that's simple. A shot from the HLEDD would reinvigorate it the same way it did me. Simple, really! I just wanted to study it extensively first."

"So… wait, you're saying we didn't actually need you after a-" Rowe started, the tinge of anger rising in his voice.

Bushroot spoke over him again, louder this time. "If you would do the honors, Dr. Codwell?" He said politely.

Codwell seemed to be having too much fun to notice Rowe's anger, or Bushroot's wariness. "Actually, I think that Animator nickname is starting to grow on me," he chuckled, taking aim. "Though in this case Re-Animator would be more appropriate."

The HLEDD fired straight into the portrait. The effect was instantaneous. The painting began to shimmer and shake. The portrait of the artist wavered in and out, distorting as the paint seemed to pull itself off of the page. A head with a long mop of hair popped out of the frame, followed by a complete, living body crawling its way into the world.

Splatter Phoenix pulled through the canvas and into the room as if it were an open window. Unlike Codwell, she came out of her state with no lack of energy. Her eyes darted around the room – she barely paid any attention to the people in it, and instead scanned the walls. "Rats! Where in the name of Jackson Poulleck am I?" She hissed. "I fall into a short slumber, and I find myself absconded to some kind of contemptibly underfurbished crypt!"

Rowe hesitated, trying to work through what she just said. "Er… it's a basement, actually…"

Phoenix threw him a dirty look. Bushroot and Codwell winced.

"And it wasn't exactly a nap." Bushroot said timidly. "According to the villain newsletter, you were… er… dissolved in a fight with Darkwing years ago."

She waved her hand in his face dismissively. "As if such a blunder would slip my…" She stopped short, blinking rapidly. "Darn it, I think I do remember that. That ignorant, purple boor!"

"But now you're back, thanks to me!" Codwell said, stepping forward with a chipper grin. "It was really quite fascinating! You are a feat of life energy manipulation."

Her lip curled as she stared down at him. "I care little for banal studies. I am an artist!"

"Y…yes," Codwell faltered. "I'm sure. But you can appreciate the amount of study that went into this. This is a miracle of life energy research!"

Her expression didn't change. "I have no need for your outdated traditional values of debt, either!" She scoffed, turning away haughtily. "As a starving artist, I operate on a far different system of value!"

"Don't get me wrong, I don't want you to owe me!" He replied. "In fact, I have an offer for you!"

Rowe's eyes narrowed. "Codwell, what are you up to mate?" He growled.

Codwell ignored him. Phoenix glanced back at Codwell, just barely interested. "You want to bring your beautiful art to a monotonous world," he said. "I want to give life to all potential beings in a world that denies them that freedom. We have the same goal, more or less."

"I have no need to have the world pass judgment on my superior artistry. My superior je ne sais quoi speaks for itself!"

"I know!" He grabbed her hand and bowed his head, apparently trying to be charming. "What you want is free reign! So do I! We can make the world a better place! A place full of color and life and energy! Why, with a bit more study of your physiology and more resources, we could change the world! Recreate the world!"

Codwell's eyes were wild and full of mad energy, which rarely if ever ended well. Rowe stepped forward, intending to shut this down before it went any farther. "Codwell, that's enough! You're talking to a bunch of crooks, remember mate?"

Without looking, Codwell raised the HLEDD and aimed it directly at Rowe's head. Rowe backed away, but his hard look only intensified – and now he was joined by Bushroot as well. "I'm talking to her!" Codwell shouted, in full maniacal fervor. "And I say that together we could ensure nobody stands in our way! Including any of these petty criminals! We could usher in a new world! What do you say?"

Phoenix whipped her hand away from him, scoffing. "Ugh, escapism. What vapid cliché!"

Codwell seemed unable to process the blunt dismissal. "But…"

In his surprise, he made the mistake of lowering the HLEDD. Rowe leapt forward, and in a moment Codwell was tumbling head over heels towards the door. "Plus," Rowe said, "I'm pretty sure delusions of godhood are against the Fearsome Five's charter."

"I thought you didn't like having a charter," Bushroot said, raising an eyebrow.

Rowe smirked. "I'm warming up to it, mate." He turned to the door. "A little help?" He said to no one in particular.

But in a hideout like this, there was rarely nobody around, no matter where you were. Camille suddenly appeared at the door, having gotten bored with the mayhem upstairs and followed the two downstairs. She took a single glance at the room, and shrugged.

"Can't sssay I'm sssurprised," she said dismissively. Before Codwell could react, she shifted herself into a hulking brute and grabbed the surprised megalomaniac by the collar.

"Alright, sssmartypantsss," she said, laughing as she tossed him over her shoulder and headed for the exit. "There'sss a two dink minimum in thisss essstablisshment!"

Rowe and Bushroot simply watched as Codwell was forcibly ejected from the hideout. His voice carried all the way down the hall, even after Camille entered the secret stairwell. "Hey wait! I got carried away! Sorry about the 'petty criminals' bit, really! I really enjoyed working with you! At least let my subjects have a few drinks on the way ooooouuuut!"

There was the sound of a slam, and that was that.

"That was fast," Bushroot noted. "I thought for sure we'd given him at least a couple more chances."

Rowe shrugged. "Eh, with a guy like that you could read 'doesn't play well with others' straight off."

"True." Bushroot winced, seeing the logic.

"Maybe, someday, when he's less… intense, we let him stick around. But until then… wait a tick, mate! Just who was she calling a dink back there, anyway?"

And thus the moment was over. Ignoring him, Bushroot turned back to the person that was still important here: Splatter Phoenix. "Anywho, we happen to have a proposition for you as well," he said eagerly. She didn't paint herself a way out of the room, so he assumed she was still willing to listen even after that small fiasco. "So why don't we move this upstairs? Our club is a little less… 'contemptible.'" He said, looking around at the lab. "We promise our offer is less insane than that one."

Phoenix spared one last disdainful look at her surroundings and acquiesced. "If you must…"

The three went back up to the Dive, to a part that they hoped would look as appealing as possible to their guest's critical eye. They had nothing in the way of a VIP section – who expected VIPs in a supervillain themed club, after all? – but upscale tastes called for at least an attempt at upscale surroundings.

Unfortunately the club was still a work and progress, and the entire place was in disarray thanks to Codwell's shenanigans. Quackerjack had managed to kept ahold of his living barstool, and was still cutting a swath of destruction around the room while everyone else chased after him. The place was a mess.

Surprisingly, Phoenix ignored the chaos. Which isn't to say that her upscale tastes weren't yet again less than impressed, naturally.

"Feh. Such tawdry décor." She huffed, surveying the club's aesthetic from their small booth in the corner. "A irksomely neon example of faux-Art Deco consumerist feng shui."

Rowe and Bushroot stared at each other, a little lost.

"I feel like we should be insulted, mate."

"You really think it looks art deco?"

Phoenix glared at them, quickly veering the conversation straight to business.

"As you say, you're a starving artist, right mate?" Rowe said. "You don't do debts. Not as a post-modern… er… reconstructive… um…"

"Pseudo-anti-neo-postmodern-deconstructionist, you uncultured lout," she sneered. "And no."

"If you say so, mate. But you're also an old school, natural supervillain. So how about a little profit instead?" He pulled a copy of their employer's check from his suit and waved it at her.

"I'm a creature of talent! And I work alone. Do you really think I would throw in with you for such lowbrow, philistine rewards?"

"This isn't lowbrow, sister. It's a lot of money! Like, a lot of money?" He handed her the bill, and tried not to laugh as she dropped her paintbrush. "And an equal share of it is yours. Even split this much, that's a lot of zeroes, am I right mate?"

"O-Only provincial-minded poseurs sell out…" She stammered, trying and failing to keep her disdainful look. "For anything less than one more zero, that is."

"We'll see what we can do. And to sweeten the deal, we'll let you design us some kind of VIP section, so we can have something … er… 'sophisticated' and such," Rowe offered, feeling rather proud of himself. He was falling into a groove with this whole "front man" business. "You know, so it's appropriate for true connoisseurs, who don't want to deal with all this… um..."

"'Tawdry décor?'" Bushroot offered.

"Right, what he said." Rowe stood up and held out his hand. "Deal?"

Phoenix scoffed, as usual. "There aren't enough supposed 'connoisseurs' in this state to fully appreciate my artistic vision!" Nevertheless, she accepting his hand and shook it. "But… I think I can accept those terms. Just keep the rest of these plebeians out of my way!"

And with that, she swept out of the bar – presumably to find and claim an empty room with lots of large, unblemished walls to begin painting.

"Now all we have to do is find some true connoisseurs," Bushroot whispered to Rowe, after they were sure she was gone.

"Another crisis for another day, mate," Rowe replied. He trudged over to the bar and collapsed into one of the few un-animated stools. "That's everything the employer wanted us to have, right? Nothing else, mate?" Bushroot nodded. "Good. Speaking of, where's the tin man?"

"According to Beakley, Armstrong has been mysteriously unaccounted for since this morning." Bushroot said, plopping down next to him. "He said something about 'taking a walk,' evidently."

"Hrm."

"Yeah."

"Whatever. We'll deal with whatever he's on about later. What do we have to do now?"

"Well..." Bushroot paused, mulling it all over. "We'll need to scheme up a perfectly plotted master plan that takes into account all the variables, which means we need to make sure our intel is right, find a way to counter upwards of four heroes and heroines, make sure nobody actually gets their hands on their cut until after the job is done, not to mention find a suitable means of transporting our target… we'll have our hands full for the rest of the week at least!"

Rowe groaned loudly. "Never mind, too much work! This was a looong day, mate! We'll start tomorrow!" He waved his hand for a bartender. "Right now, I just wanna drink a salmon martini and pass out in my hammock!"

Unfortunately, the only person currently around who could tend bar and wasn't panicking or making a fool of themselves was Cementhead. Rowe curled his lip when he walked up to them. His recent blunders had not been forgotten just yet.

Cementhead was grinning, showing a lack of care that made Rowe even more irritated. "That's an interestin' order, I ever tell you that?" he said loftily, seemingly not noticing Rowe's gritted teeth. "But it'll have to wait." He shook his head with what could have been sympathy. Possibly. "Codwell zapped all our glasses on the way out. I could bring ya a bottle, but I dunno if we could fit the salmon in there. Sorry, boss."

Rowe's eye twitched, and the cracked chuckles Bushroot hid under his breath weren't helping. "Plagues and pestilence!" He shouted, surprisingly shrill when completely stressed out. Bushroot laughed even more. "Ten times a day, mates, I swear! How many times do I have to tell you, I… we ain't your…"

Mid-yell, he abruptly petered out. All of a sudden, it just seemed pointless to pointless to finish. "Oh, just forget it…" He sighed, letting his head fall into the counter with a soft CLUNK, and trying not to listen to his friend's giggles or the chaotic sounds of a club in disarray.

"Oh cheer up, will you?" Bushroot said brightly. "We won, didn't we? Slipped out right under Darkwing's beak, too! In fact…" he turned to Cementhead. "I think I'll have a bottle of that extra-strength growth formula I've been storing for a rainy day." Cementhead gave a thumbs up and went bottle-hunting.

Rowe buried his head in his hands. "If I knew victory was such a headache, I would've voted for sticking to being henchmen. Curse Quackerjack for talking us into this."

Bushroot gave him a sympathetic look. "I always forget you never were a freelancer before joining the Five, like the rest of us." He said, patting Rowe on the shoulder. "You'll get used to it. Especially now that we're stuck with these nuts."

"I guess it wasn't that bad. Quackerjack was right about one thing – without Negaduck to suck the thrill out of it, it's a heck of a job," Rowe admitted, reluctantly. "But there's… room for improvement."

On cue came telltale elevated voices that heralded Beakley and Camille picking a fight. A few seconds later, this was followed by Beakley herself hurtling over their heads, shouting curses and swearing revenge. Cementhead came back, tossed Bushroot's bottle on the table and went to check it out, but seemed more interested in egging the two on than stopping them.

Rowe groaned, not at all happy to have his point proven. "We gotta practice, mate," he said. "If we're going to do this, those capes ought to have no idea what hit them! No more screwing each other up."

Bushroot smirked. "I have to admit, it'll be fun to see the look on Darkwing's face." He moved to stand up. "So, shall we get to plotting, then?"

It was Rowe's turn to smirk. "Are you crazy? I said we start tomorrow, didn't I?" He got up and headed for the door. Bushroot, realizing that nothing would be getting done tonight, sat back down.

"I'm heading out to find a salmon martini somewhere," Rowe said without looking back. "Should be simple, mate! Don't wait up." He slipped through the front door, and just avoided getting run over by Quackerjack – who tried to bowl him over before he could leave. Having missed catastrophically, Quackerack careened wildly and crashed into the wall instead. In the commotion, Rowe was long gone.

Bushroot laughed softly and took a swig of his growth formula. "My, when's he going to learn that for a supervillain in St. Canard, nothing's simple? You have to make do with the insanity eventually…"

He looked over to where the bar's tv usually was, hoping to check the news, before remembering that Codwell had animated it. It was probably long gone by now. At the moment, this meant the only televisions left were down in the lab.

He looked around at the chaos, chuckling despite himself. "Ah well, this place doesn't need me right now." He finished off his growth formula and headed back towards the secret stairwell. "Might as well keep an eye open instead. Just in case Rowe's simple salmon run ends with a teammate in jail. You never know what'll happen in this town…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** What's a story centered on the villains without a good old fashioned heist? And what's a supervillain story without some supertech? But them together, and you get... a lot of chaos. Dealing with loose cannons is something of the meat of the Fearsome Five, always has been, and having that overflow is what makes this story so much fun to write. Bushroot, Rowe and Quackerjack may have dodged a bullet in Codwell, but they're not out of the woods yet...

In any case, our Duck reference(s) of the day! Dudly D. Duck is from the Duck comics: Donald's cousin, and a catastrophically awful inventor. Why someone would name an institute after him is anyone's guess, but small wonder it's delapidated. Secondly, the Black Knight with his acid-coated armor is one of Scrooge McDuck's comic nemeses: I always thought he'd make a good Darkwing villain.

Finally, I'm pretty sure Otis Quacker and Virgil Lancetail win the prize for worst naming puns I've ever given any characters. It's a very prestigious honor.

 _Next time:_ The Five's embark on their mystery employer's secret plan. The moving parts all come together as heroes and villains match wits, with old friends and even older secrets, during **The Great Duckburg Hat Trick!**


	3. The Great Duckburg Hat Trick Pt 1

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where Negaduck has recently nearly taken over St. Canard with a multi-dimensional army, and now after his defeat the world is going through a few changes.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

* * *

 _McDuck Manor, Duckburg_

It was a beautiful day to visit scenic Duckburg – home of Formula 1 racecars, high tech lasers, fabulous aeronauts in amazing aeroplanes, and of course the famous holdings of the illustrious Scrooge McDuck. A little slice of springtime heaven for those who lived there - but for the Mallard family it was a strange change of pace from their usual hectic crime-ridden metropolis.

With Scrooge's company moving to foot the bill for the reconstruction of the damage to St. Canard in the wake of Negaduck's invasion, the Mallards' superheroic alter egos had been working with him quite a bit lately. With the reconstruction soon came a massive renovation plan across the whole city, promising to bring improvements to everything from repaved roads to hi-tech traffic lights.

Both cities had been abuzz about this for some time, and now Scrooge was finally going to unveil the means in which he planned to speed up this reconstruction at a special executive conference. Special guests and important people from both Duckburg and St. Canard were expected to appear to rub elbows and catch a glimpse of Scrooge's latest plans – which of course included an appearance from St. Canard's own superhero community.

Or at least, that was the official reason. But it also gave Scrooge and Launchpad a chance to see each other, a rare thing these days, and to connect with the family that had all but adopted him. And with Scrooge, that meant being treated like part of _his_ family in turn: and so it was that Drake, Launchpad and Gosalyn – who "invited" Honker under the guise of it being a nice pre-graduation getaway (they had to do a lot of wheedling to get his parents to allow him to visit another city without them) – were whisked by limo to Duckburg several hours early to explore the city and join Scrooge for a lavish brunch.

With a duck as rich as Scrooge, it was easy to expect a mansion filled with servants and a meal flown in from some world famous chef halfway across the globe. They got the mansion part right, but it was a surprise to find nobody else in it but a kindly older woman – though not as old as Scrooge, it seemed _nobody_ was that old – and a single butler.

Both of whom clearly had any chef in the world dead to rights.

"I can't remember the last time I've had anything that good!" Gosalyn laughed on their way to the main hall, after cleaning her plate in more ways than one. Despite his objections, she had insisted on helping Duckworth put the dishes away. "Sorry Dad, but Duckworth's got you beat!"

"No offense taken!" Drake laughed, patting his stomach. "What was that, anyway?"

"Haggis," Honker said idly. He had opted for a nice salad instead.

"Psh, come on Honk," Gosalyn laughed, assuming it was a joke. "Like entrails would _really_ taste that good!"

"They do the way the McDuck family makes them, ma'am," Duckworth said stuffily. "The recipe has been passed down for generations!"

Launchpad laughed. He was still wolfing down his third plate. "It's true! I've had the ol' McDuck haggis tons of times. Never a better pair of baked lungs will you ever find! Though I'm not sure where else you would look…"

There was a long silence.

"Well, thanks all the same…" Gosalyn said weakly, eyeing the odd green color rising up her father's face. Honker hid a chuckle behind his arm.

"Think nothing of it, dear," Mrs. Beakley said happily, smiling up at them as she gingerly took a seat in a large armchair. The old ex-nanny had lived at the estate for many years after taking care of Scrooge's nephews in their youth. Now that they were older she was more or less out of a job, but Scrooge had kindly extended an invitation for her and her granddaughter Webbigail to stay as long as they wanted. Much like Scrooge himself, she and Duckworth were both still going strong despite the many years under their belt – though in her case, that was getting difficult.

Not long before the visit, she caught a nasty bug that – healthy life or not – seriously wore her down at her age. While it was thankfully temporary, she wasn't moving around much. Not that that ever stopped her from being kind. "Any family of Launchpad's is family of ours," she said, beaming at the Mallards, "isn't that right Mr. McDuck?"

"Yes, yes. My house is yer house, as long as yer willin' te pay," Scrooge grunted automatically, not actually paying much attention to the conversation. Having finished his meal before the rest, he was already in deep concentration over the a few last minute files he planned to present.

"Mr. McDuck!" Mrs. Beakley gasped. Scrooge glanced up briefly, before turning back to his files.

"Don't mind him," Duckworth assured their guests, assuming that they found that as offensive as it sounded. "I'm afraid he isn't much used to visitors as of late."

"Don't worry about it," Drake grinned. Though as far as Mrs. Beakley and Duckworth knew this was the Mallards' first time really getting to know Scrooge, they were well used to Scrooge's gruff but well-meaning determination by now. In fact they found it rather endearing, but they couldn't well let Mrs. Beakley and Duckworth know that. The only two people in Duckburg who knew their secret identities were Scrooge himself and Gizmoduck, and for now they planned for it to stay that way.

"I'm just grateful for your invitation. It's supposed to be a busy day today, right?" He continued, pausing to put on what Gosalyn had long christened his 'fishing for fame' face. "Something about Darkwing Duck?"

Gosalyn rolled her eyes where he couldn't see her (or more accurately, where he could pretend he didn't see her). "I still can't believe I'm missing a chance to meet Darkwing Duck?" She said with obviously exaggerated disappointment. "Are you sure there's no space for us there?"

"Afraid so, lass." Scrooge grunted, playing along. "Inviting an old colleague who operates in St. Canard is one thing," he gestured to Launchpad. "But I'm afraid I can't make openings for a family he happens to know… no offense. Even Darkwing Duck is only there for publicity."

"What a shame…" Drake said airily, trying not to look too pleased. Gosalyn rolled her eyes again. "I guess we'll have to meet St. Canard's hero some other time…"

"Yeah, maybe we can crash a bank robbery," Gosalyn smirked, ignoring the glare her father sent her way.

As an event halfway between a press conference and an executive reception, Scrooge's big unveiling was going to be very posh and very exclusive. Everyone knew this was a big revelation, whatever it would be, but the idea here was more to flaunt the company's plans in in front of investors, rivals and the press.

As he made clear at length whenever anybody brought up the subject, Scrooge usually hated these sort of things: seeing them as tedious and blustery, if necessary. But the reconstruction deal with St. Canard was too much of a game changer to go by quietly. Officials and bigwigs from both cities had already gotten on board just to make appearances and rub elbows.

Scrooge had actually extended invitations to the entire Darkwing clan to appear, but they all decided together – that is, mostly Gosalyn – that having one of them attend on their behalf was more "proper." She made a strong argument that an entire team of superheroes skulking around in addition to Gizmoduck and Scrooge's other means of security might scare the investors and put everyone on edge.

That this just so happened to satisfy her glory hound father while giving her and Honker a free visit to Duckburg, without having to sit for hours thorugh a boring press conference, was left unsaid.

"A shame too," Scooge noted, still not looking up. "After the good things Dewey said about you folks, I bet yeh would've liked to meet all three boys."

"THE BOYS?!"

All eyes turned to Mrs. Beakley. Scrooge finally put down his files and gave the conversation his full attention. "Oh! Didn't ah tell you? The boys are home from college! Ah'll be picking them up along the way!"

"Scrooge McDuck!" Mrs. Beakley shouted, her voice shrill and raspy from her cold. Scrooge shrunk back, looking much like a child who hadn't done his chores. To his visitors, it was a very rare sight. "Had I known the boys were coming I wouldn't have decided to stay home! You know Webby has wanted badly to see them, but now she's gone with her friends on that band trip to Spoonerville!"

"Ah… aheh…" Scrooge chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry about that, Mrs. Beakley… but there's still always a place for you!"

Mrs. Beakley rose to stand, but Duckworth strode over and put a hand on her shoudler. "As this house's professional caretaker, I must put my foot down - not in your condition!" Duckworth said to her, but loudly enough that the whole room could hear. "Anything but strict bed rest shall have to wait until after your illness has passed."

"Don't be silly, I'm perfectly- _kaff!"_ As if to prove his point, Mrs. Beakley's objection was interrupted by a small fit of coughing, and she was forced to lower herself into a chair. "Oh, very well. Forget it, Mr. McDuck" She sighed, calming herself down. "Just make sure the boys actually come around afterwards to visit this time!"

Scrooge agreed, still looking a bit guilty – also a rare expression from him.

Drake cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well… um... now that that's all settled, I suppose I better head to my… er… meeting," Drake said, glancing at Scrooge.

This, of course, really meant he would be heading for where Launchpad hid the Thunderquack to change, but a cover story was a cover story. "Thank you again for letting me know about that pinckney flanges supplier here in Duckburg, Mr. McDuck. Should _really_ help my 'work!'"

"Think nothing of it, lad." Scrooge said without a trace of awkwardness at all, leaving Drake to wonder just how much more experience had he with this sort of thing. "Just be sure to say hello for me. And remind him of that hundred dollars he owes me."

"Right…" Drake said, trying to hide his bemusement. Even when dealing with _fake_ events, Scrooge couldn't suppress his business sense.

He moved to grab his jacket from the foyer, only to find that Duckworth had somehow left and returned with it before he could do so. A less honed temperament might have jumped in surprise. He did, however, let out a "whuh?"

"So…" he said, donning his jacket. Not as stylish as his other suit, but it did the job for a civilian. "Is that a butler thing, or-"

"Foresight is an indispensible quality, sir." Duckworth said stuffily, offering no further explanation.

"True," Drake shrugged it off. He turned to the rest of the room. "In any case, I'll be back soon! Save me some of those press conference hors d'oeuvres, Launchpad!"

"You got it, DW!"

"Well then…" Gosalyn jumped to attention. She squeezed Honker's shoulder, and they shared a smile. "Then I guess that's our cue to leave too,"

Darkwing didn't seem to hear her at first. "I'll see you guys when I get- w-wait, _leave?"_ He stopped short, and whipped about so fast he stumbled a little. "Where are _you two_ going?"

Gosalyn tilted her head at him, a little confused. "To… see Duckburg? The crown jewel of Calisota? Racecars, lasers, aeroplanes? Ringing a bell?"

"You mean… together?"

Gosalyn's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Her confusion was quickly vanishing. "…yes?"

Drake bristled instinctively. " _Together,_ together? I mean, now that you guys are…" He stammered. Gosalyn's eyes shot from narrow to wide. "That is, is this like a…"

Honker flushed. Beside him, Gosalyn was starting to redden too - though not solely from embarrassment in her case.

" _Dad…"_

"Well," Darkwing said uncomfortably. "It's just that I thought you two would stay here."

"And do what, exactly!?" Gosalyn hissed, voice rising. "No offense, Mrs. Beakley."

Mrs. Beakley's reply of "none taken, dear," was drowned out. "I don't know!" Drake replied. "Explore the mansion? Sample some of Scrooge McDuck's rich economic history? But not go galavanting through the boardwalk without proper super-."

" _DAD!"_ Gosalyn hissed sharply. Drake flinched, not unlike Scrooge had not long before. When Gosalyn continued it was slow and methodical, as if she were struggling to keep a level, polite tone. "Me and Honker are going to go and see the sights. _Together!_ We'll be back later. Have a good time buying Pinckney flanges. Bye."

With that, she promptly turned away and marched out of the door – without even waiting for Duckworth to get her coat for her.

Honker had long since ditched the conversation to personally say goodbye and apologize to their hosts – not that he needed to, as it seemed they were well versed in teenager/parent squabbles (Scrooge even looked rather amused). At the sound of Gosalyn's goodbye, he quickly broke off – apologizing again – and rushed out the door behind her before she could accidentally left him behind in her anger. The last thing this situation needed was an awkward return.

Drake grit his teeth. "Oh, sure. Pardon me for being a _parent!_ " He called after them.

Launchpad stepped up and clapped him on the back, looking more proud than concerned. "Don't worry, DW! I'm sure they'll be fine!"

"Oh, hush Launchpad." Drake grumbled. He squirmed away from Launchpad's hand and trudged towards the door as well, though he made no attempt to actively chase after his daughter.

Launchpad chuckled. Behind them, Scrooge and Duckworth laughed along with him. "Ye live a charmed life, lad," Scrooge said as the two exited together. There was a groan from Drake and one last laugh from Launchpad, and then they were gone.

After a moment's further chuckling, Scrooge glanced down at his watch. Upon seeing the time, he deciding that had been enough family fun for one day.

"I suppose we better get goin' too, Duckworth. Don't want to miss any moment of Glomgold and Rockerduck breathin' down me neck." He turned to smile at the one friend not coming along. "We'll see ye soon, Mrs. Beakley!"

"Goodbye Mr. McDuck!" Mrs. Beakley said warmly. "And good luck with the presentation!"

Scrooge waved, and then quickly made his exit as well along with Duckworth. Mrs. Beakley was alone in the mansion.

Albeit, that meant alone with a state-of-the-art security system and private emergency services practically on-call 24/7. Even when in a state such as hers, she had long since stopped worrying about her safety here. In the city of Duckburg, there was perhaps only one place better provided and more secure.

Still, Gosalyn had a point. It was rather lonely in that big house, and while there were more than enough oddities to grab a person's interest in any place owned by Scrooge McDuck, Beakley had seen them all. This was liable to be a rather dull afternoon.

Luckily, a few minutes later something broke the silence: the phone rang.

Mrs. Beakley had wisely chosen a seat close to the telephone. "Hello, McDuck Manor! I'm sorry, but Mr. McDuck is not… yes?" It took her a few seconds, but she soon recognized the voice on the other side. Her face erupted into a grin. "Oh, hello! I haven't heard from you in… what's that? You're in town?" Perhaps this evening wouldn't be so humdrum after all. "Wonderful!"

She started to give directions to the manor, but her smile fell as the other line continued to talk. "I'm sorry, dear, but I'm not feeling very well. I'm afraidit wouldn't be wise for _me_ to meet _you._ Could you perchance come to the- you… can't?" She sighed. "It has to be _there?_ Well…" She glanced at the door, where her surrogate family and their strict orders of bedrest had gone. Honestly, the way they fussed over her sometimes, it was almost as if _they_ were _her_ nannies…

"… what Duckworth and Mr. McDuck don't know can't hurt them, I suppose," she sighed. Taking down a pen, she prepared to write her own directions. "I'll be there soon!"

* * *

 _An Hour Later, at the Duckburg Park Conference Hall,_

Darkwing was still ranting by the time they made it to the conference. It hadn't taken him long to get suited up and ready for public adoration, so he had plenty of time to continue to stew about his parental woes. Even his customary dramatic entrance hadn't softened his irritation, probably because he realized that since he was expected to actually _witness_ Scrooge's presentation that meant he was forced to mingle with fat cats and politicians without an easy way of escape.

Perhaps he should've saved his entrance for _after_ Scrooge's presentation. Or maybe Gosalyn had the right idea after all. Not that he would admit it.

"Seriously, what kind of world is it LP, when my own adopted flesh and blood can blow me off like that?"

He paused, waiting for Launchpad to say something along the lines of "she's an adult now, DW." When it never came, he turned around to find that Launchpad was no longer by his side. He was a short ways away, standing by the hors d'oeuvres and talking animatedly with Dewey Duck and this two brothers Huey and Louie. Darkwing had yet to really meet the other two, but there was no mistaking the three of them together. The three were, after all, practically identical – if not for surface details like their hair or the color of their clothes.

He thought he recognized Dewey immediately, but he didn't know much about how the other two looked beyond – if LP was to be believed – Louie usually wearing green and Huey usually wearing red (Darkwing nearly made a crack about it at the time, but Launchpad had a few snappy comments about wearing purple in return). From what he'd heard about their personalities, though, it would be interesting to meet them.

At the moment Launchpad's mouth was half-full of shrimp and mushroom tart, but that of course didn't stop him from talking. He seemed to have said something funny, as the others were all laughing.

"Great," Darkwing grumbled, though there was no real malice behind it. He of course understood the need to see someone you've missed. "Now I'm losing my audience…" He shrugged with obviously fake weariness – it wasn't as if this night was _really_ about him, after all. "Oh, well. Might as well go over and say 'hi.'"

As he approached the boys were in the middle of grilling Launchpad about the multiverse, and Launchpad was trying to rattle off all the different parallel universes he had visited or heard about over the years.

"Let's see…" he was saying, counting on his fingers. "There's the Negaverse, of course. Uh… the one that was all post-apocalypse – no fun, that one. There's the one that that Darkwarrior fella ruled over. The one where DW was a robot – though we never got to see that one. And… hrm…"

"Don't forget the medieval one, LP," Darkwing said, by way of introduction. "I, for one, am definitely glad we don't have to deal with that Negarian any more. Yeesh, the fashion sense on that guy…"

Dewey's face lit up. "It's great to see you again, Mr. Darkwing!" He said brightly. Beside him his green suited brother's froze in surprise, while the last of the trio seemed mostly blasé.

"Likewise, my boy!" Darkwing smiled, shaking his hand.

Dewey snorted, though good-naturedly. "Heh, you sound like Uncle Scrooge," he said.

Darkwing flinched. "Hey now! I'm an experienced hero, but I'm not _that_ experienced!"

Dewey started laughing again, muffling his apology, and so did Launchpad. Years ago, Darkwing might have been insulted, but never let it said that he couldn't take a joke now – at least, not one from a spirit young lad. He shrugged, and turned to the rest of the group. The one who Darkwing was pretty sure was Huey had seemingly gotten bored, and was reading over some files instead – like uncle, like nephew – but the one in green was _still_ staring at him.

"Quackaroonie!" He said breathlessly. "You really did meet him!"

"Of course, Lou! What, did you guys think I was lying or something?"

Huey smirked, but didn't look up from his files – again giving Darkwing déjà vu back to brunch with Scrooge. "Lying? No. Embellishing? Sure."

Dewey looked affronted, but Huey didn't bother looking up to see his face. Meanwhile, Louie finally worked up his nerve and shuffled forward, extending a shaky hand. "H-hi, Mr. Darkwing Duck, sir! My name is Loony – I mean, L-louie Duck, and… oh phooey, I…"

"Calm down, Corporal Kiss-Up," Huey rolled his eyes. "If only you got this excited about stuff that _matters._ " He glanced at Darkwing. "No offense."

"Come on! How often do go to a party with real, live superhero? He's out there battling the forces of evil every day!"

"This isn't a party, it's a press conference. And we talk to Gizmoduck like, five times a week when we're in town!" Huey said. "You said 'hi' to him _this morning!_ Not to mention _we've_ battled the forces of evil a bunch of times, I'd say."

"That doesn't count!"

Dewey sighed, in that tell-tale long suffering way. "Just try to show a little composure, Lou. Uncle Scrooge wants us here representing the future of the Duck family and all that. He wants us paying attention, knowing what to do when its our turn doing stuff like this. Don't you think it'd look kind of silly if instead we walked around getting starstruck?"

Louie winced. "Yeah… I guess you're right." Louie turned back to Darkwing, and held out his hand more formally. Darkwing, despite still feeling a little awkward, happily shook it. "Sorry, Mr. Darkwing. But meeting you is still definitely awesome, sir!"

"Nothing of it, my boy," Darkwing said with a glorious air, and he shook Louie's hand more vigorously than he had Dewey's. He never could resist showing off for a fan. "Always happy to meet a fellow lover of justice!"

Louie made a high pitched squeak, composed himself, and mumbled something about needing a snack before shuffling off to the hors d'ouvres tables with an enormous grin on his face.

Huey rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother. Literally."

Dewey nudged him with his elbow. "Hey, at least he's keeping it mellow, Hue."

They all watched as Louie wandered about the snack bar on autopilot, throwing random things onto a pile of food that was looking increasingly unstable by the second.

Huey glanced at his brother, and reluctantly shared a smile. "Come on. Better go reel in the starstruck goober before he dumps a load of shrimp on his shoes." He nodded to Darkwing and Launchpad and left to offer his brother another plate. "Good to finally meet you I guess, Darkwing."

Dewey lingered for a moment, to say goodbye. "He probably means it, too. Huey always speaks his mind." He shrugged. "But that's the family, you know?" He hurried off to join his brothers, and the three were soon laughing together again and they split Louie's enormous plate in three.

Darkwing watched them go, feeling very proud of himself. "Yep, yep, yep. Still got it, LP."

"Thanks for that, laddie." Scrooge came up from behind, with a familiar face in tow. Fenton Crackshell stood next to him, waving very obviously at Darkwing and Launchpad.

Fenton leapt forward and wrung Darkwing's hand tight. "Real pleasure to see you ag– I mean, meet you for the first time, Darkwing Duck!" He winced, already hearing his mistake.

Darkwing's upper lip twitched. "The pleasure's all mine, _Mr. Crackshell!"_ He replied, emphasizing the name. The hard tone made Fenton back up, laughing sheepishly, so Darkwing turned to Scrooge. "Always nice to hear thanks for a billionaire, but what is it that I'm supposed to have done? Besides charm the younger generation with my roguish accolades, of course."

"No, it's exactly that lad, though I wouldn't quite put it that way," Scooge continued. "Those three are me' pride and joy. They've all got big futures ahead of 'em. But poor Louie, he needs a little help seeing it sometimes. He's so… aimless, nowadays."

"A good kid like Louie always finds his path." Launchpad said sagely, as he started throwing appetizers in his mouth again. "It's like my old man used to tell me-"

Darkwing groaned. "Is this another one of those stories that ends with your father kicking you out of the house?"

Launchpad blinked at him. "… maybe? Is that bad?"

"Whatever the case," Scrooge cut them off. He was, after all, just as used to Launchpad's asides. "It's nice to see the boy excited about something. Undecided in school. Undecided in life. It pains me heart. And ah know it bothers his brothers too, sometimes. The boy _believes_ strongly, for sure. But he just doesn't seem te know what te do about it. It's a poor trait in a business man."

"I dunno, Mr. McDuck. I've always admired Louie's keen moral center." Fenton said. "Maybe he's just not cut out to be a businessman."

Scrooge rounded on him. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" He said angrily.

Realizing his mistake, Fenton started to sweat. "I… um… well… that is…"

"Never mind that." Scrooge snapped. "Are all the arrangements done? If there's but a tablecloth out of alignment, I'll bump ye so far down ye'll _wish_ ye were counting beans!"

Fenton grinned, albeit nervously. This was at least a grateful subject change. "No problem at all, Mr. McDuck. Everything's A-OK!"

"Very well then. Did ye remember to arrange the front row seats fer the press? We want every bee in both cities to be abuzz about this! And the seats for other billionaires in attendance… way in the back! Heh heh!" He allowed himself a brief chuckle. "And their gift baskets, in case they complain. I've been looking for something to do with those blasted 'vintage coins from Trala La.'"

"It's all taken care of!" Fenton chuckled. "Prime seating for the press, and gift baskets for the billionaire's club!"

Scrooge breathed a sigh in relief.

"… or was that gift baskets for the press, and prime seating for the billionaire's…?"

Scrooge stopped, and stared at him. For a _long_ moment.

"Crackshell," he said slowly. "Ye do know that if the press thinks we're giving them fancy gifts, ah'll be _up to me earlobes in bribery accusations?"_

Fenton gulped. "… right. Of course. So, I'm just gonna go make sure that's all straightened out, then?" Seeing Scrooge's blank look start to turn into a glare, he started backing away slowly. "See ya!"

He zipped off faster than one could say "switcheroo," presumably to find one of the staff and cajole them into helping him swipe gift baskets. Scrooge groaned, burying his face in his palm.

Darkwing watched this of all with fascination. As someone who didn't know _Fenton_ very well but was well acquainted with his armored alter-ego, it often seemed to Darkwing like Fenton's foolish behavior had to be some kind of act. Gizmo-Duck was campier than a fairground in July sometimes, but Fenton was another level of goofball altogether. It was sometimes hard to reconcile the eccentric, foolhardy gofer with the lionhearted superhero.

Scrooge once explained that Gizmoduck suit gave Fenton the confidence and inspiration to act in ways that he would never bring himself to act otherwise – which Darkwing had little experience with. For him, for Crimson and even for Techno, being a hero was a natural extension of themselves. But he took Scrooge's word for it.

So "reassured" about the state of the amenities, Scrooge walked off – grumbling under his breath about "incompetent but cheap help." Darkwing tried not to laugh.

Just as he disappeared, a young woman stepped up to them, a face Darkwing instantly recognized from television - and even if he didn't, her press hat and the conspicuous golden gift basket - Scrooge would not be happy – gave her away as a reporter. He stood up straighter and puffed out his chest, instantly going into "public appearance" mode.

The reporter looked slightly disappointed to have just missed the multi-trillionaire of the hour, but enthusiastically threw her hand out to shake all the same.

"Darkwing Duck!" She said brightly. "You might remember me: Julia Plumis from _**News on the Wing**?_ I covered your award ceremony after Negaduck's defeat. Spare a word for the public?"

"Ah, I remember that." Darkwing said pompously. "I especially liked the way you described me 'staunch in the face of adversity, singed but triumphant!' That's one of my own phrases, you know?"

Plumis laughed. "Is it? I'll have to quote you next time." She looked like she had another joke in her, but it was cut off – for suddenly, leapt out of her skin. Out of nowhere, Fenton appeared at her side and swiped the gift based out of her hand. "Whoa! Hey!"

"Sorry!" He squeaked sheepishly, already dipping into the crowd. "Oversight! Not worth explaining, I promise!" A moment later he was gone, having deftly struck the conversation straight in the funny bone.

Launchpad cleared his throat. "So… you also did that story on the Fearsome Five, right?" Launchpad said. "And nearly lost your head for your trouble, I hear."

"Yeah… I got a few splinters, it's true."

"I'd prefer if the press didn't encourage the criminal element like that," Darkwing huffed. "I'd prefer something more biased towards justice – to tell the stories that _need_ to be told."

"You know, the Five actually said something similar. But my story was informative first, biased second. The public deserves to know the truth, no matter how light or dark it is." At this she faltered slightly. She looked a tad uncomfortable. "You actually inspired me, you know? You saved my life one, and I never forgot it."

Darkwing puffed out his chest. "Happy to be of service!" He said pompously. Launchpad rolled his eyes, knowing his friend would soon being diving into "total braggart" mode. "Well, if it's a story an inspired young reporter such as yourself needs, why settle for mere past exploits when I've got a hundred newsworthy stories under my belt from this week alone?"

"Ah. Well… actually, I…"

But she had asked for it, and once having gotten going it would take a miracle to make Darkwing stop. "Why, just last last Tuesday I faced the deceitful Dr. Slug in a fearsome fight for the fate of all Calisota! - the story hasn't broken yet, so you'll be the first to know. It started when I deduced that the strange wave of blue graffiti littering the city was actually connected to the Ancient Cult of Solego…"

Suspecting that this typical collision of Darkwing's ego and the press would take quite a while, he took the opportunity to excuse himself and wander around the reception.

Being Launchpad McQuack, it wasn't long before his wanderings took him back to the snack table – where he bumped into another familiar face. Almost literally: he was reaching for a bit of sushi, when his hand collided with another. It snapped back, though more with catlike grace than with alarm. He looked up, and his face practically started glowing.

"Mia!" Launchpad grinned. He also pulled back, letting her get first pick of the sushi instead. "What are _you_ doing here? On a case?"

She put her hand to her lips. She had that look in her eyes, the one all secret agents have that makes you wonder whether any "accidental" meetings were really accidents. "Don't cause a scene. SHUSH has an interest in making sure this event goes smoothly, so they sent me and a few others as extra… 'security.'" Her face wrinkled, as if she were displeased by the phrase.

"Oh!" Launchpad said. "I'm surprised they didn't tell us. We could've worked together."

She nodded. "And if it were up to me, we would've – especially after the Institute fiasco. But top brass is still so stubborn about you guys right now." She covered her mouth, laughing softly. "But don't let the Director know I said that."

"Hey, my lips are sealed."

Snacks were quickly forgotten. The two began to drift away from the food – no small feat, in Launchpad's case – and into the crowd, though they paid the other patrons little mind.

"So, you're here to do the ol' protect and serve?" Launchpad asked. "Mr. McDee will appreciate that, so long as he doesn't have to pay. No offense."

"None taken," she explained, laughing. "We know Scrooge McDuck well. Luckily, it's all public service. Though," and at this, she frowned. "I'm also here on another matter."

Launchpad looked to her to explanation, but Mia simply pointed to the corner of the room where a large table sat, slightly out of the way. A decently sized entourage was gathered around it.

"Recognize him?" She asked, pointing to the person seated at the center of the group. It was a thin, elderly duck with spectacles and a bowler hat. The people surrounding him were all well dressed and clearly affluent middle-aged ducks, who seemed to hang onto his every word.

Launchpad nodded. "Yeah, that's J. D. Rockerduck. More of Mr. McDee's competition, though compared to guys like Glomgold he's not so bad," he scoffed, just thinking about his unfortunate meetings with Scrooge's nemesis. "Don't even get me _started_ on that guy."

"Trust me, SHUSH is no fan of Glomgold either. And he'll be around soon enough too, I'm sure of it. But for now, my concern is getting to talk to Rockerduck. It's something that's rather important, but wouldn't you know we're finding it a bit hard to get face time with him." She smirked. "You'd almost think he was avoiding us."

Launchpad scratched his head. "Gee, must be something really important. Either that or something he doesn't think is worth his time."

"A little bit of A, a little bit of B most likely. It's starting to get annoying. So I was wondering if you might be able to give me an 'in.'" She turned to him, looking apologetic, "I hate to ask, but your history with Scrooge should at least give you the opportunity to mingle with the guy, which should give _me_ the opportunity to get a few words in. Otherwise I might have to spend all night trying to find the right time to corner him."

"Hey," Launchpad shrugged. "Sounds like a hoot!"

Mia smiled in silent thanks, and looped her arm in his. He flushed, but tried not to let it show. Having stumbled once more into a brief bit of espionage, he didn't want to bungle it.

As they approached, Rockerduck was already halfway through delivering a long winded explanation to his entourage. Either he didn't notice their approach, or he didn't think they would bother him, as he didn't stop.

"Yes, yes. Scrooge does well and good cleaning up after the disaster," he was saying as they walked up, "but as usual the old fool missed the _real_ opportunity."

"That seems a bit premature, eh wot," said one of the stuffier looking businessmen. "It seems that, _as usual,_ McDuck has made quite the boodle for himself. _His_ investors likely have nothing to worry about."

Rockerduck gave the investor a dirty look. "Listen, young man. I know the full scope of this business is difficult to fathom, but try to keep up." The businessman, who would not have been a spring chicken even if he were a chicken, blustered at being called "young man," but ruefully clammed up.

"As I was saying," Rockerduck continued, "the real marvel here isn't in the rebuilding effort. Scrooge has been rebuilding disaster areas for decades now. It's in what this catastrophe made us pay attention to. Interdimensional portals. Magic. Supervillains. People knew about these things before, yes, but now we're truly starting to understand them. Me, personally? I tried to learn a fair bit more about trons. They're powerful things."

He paused for dramatic effect, and Launchpad took the opportunity to chime in without thinking. "I'd say so! Those folks from Negaverse really pack a punch!" He winced immediately, realizing his possible mistake, but Mia didn't nudge him like he expected.

Indeed, as she expected an old fashioned fat cat like Rockerduck looked straight at Launchpad and, as long as she didn't say anything, barely spared her a sideways glance.

"Ah, Mr. Launchpad McQuack! It has been entirely too long," Rockerduck said with an idle wave. "Come closer, you of all people should definitely want to hear this."

He went back to addressing the table. "Trons are no secret. They teach about them in grade school. But nobody takes them seriously. Until now. Alternate dimensions overflowing with negatrons invades our own? People start getting nervous. What is it about these supposed building blocks of good and evil that breeds such…" he stopped again, looking for the right word. "…hostility? And more importantly, is it happening here?"

Rockerduck had everyone's attention now. He became more animated, relishing the tension. "People are starting to truly believe in those fickle little particles. That makes them afraid. Makes them think. If trons are behind everyone's good and bad sides, maybe they're the reason bad people do bad things. Maybe that can be _changed."_

Launchpad tensed, as he thought of the all too familiar danger ahead of this train of thought. This, he realized, must have been exactly why Mia needed this audience.

"Like Scrooge," Rockerduck continued. "I'm well versed in helping people while making a pretty penny. Let the old boy have his moment. Once our research completes, with your help of course," he added, speaking to ducks but addressing their wallets. "Rockerduck will be the number one name in rehabilitation. The only name! Prisons will be revolutionized. Criminals will be off the streets. Even regular therapy will be a thing of the past. The world will be a safer, happier place – all thanks to technology provided by our company.

He received a small applause, from all except two. From them, his ideas earned only disdain.

Detaching from Launchpad's side, Mia spoke up at last. "And what about the ethical concerns, Mr. Rockerduck."

Rockerduck's eyes bugged out. "Eh?" He rose to his feet and looked around wildly, searching for the comment's source. He quickly zeroed in on Mia, who to be fair wasn't trying to hide so his eyes soon found the two of them. He blinked in surprise, but continued. "I'm sorry… who is your charming attaché, Mr. McQuack?"

"Gingivere." She replied, ignoring the fact that he addressed Launchpad and not her. "Mia Gingivere."

Rockerduck's charm evaporated immediately. Clearly, he recognized the name. "Ah, yes. You have been corresponding with my secretary, I believe."

"Yes I have." She said with an unaffected air. Launchpad just sat back and watched the show. "And my organization has a vested interest in the kind of work you're suggesting."

"Pish," he scoffed. "SHUSH has no jurisdiction over private research."

Mia's expression didn't change. "We do if work involving it is restricted. It's a rickety bridge your company is treading now, Rockerduck. Tron research has shut down, even by us, for a good reason."

But this Rockerduck just waved off. "I'm sure that SHUSH has fallen into the pitfalls of irresponsible research," he said quickly, "but you'll find that once our R&D finishes on the track they're going, the applications will overcome those questionable early stages." He looked around wildly, trying to stop the conversation from concerning his investors with limited success.

"You mean you can find a loophole once you crack the science. I'm sure you could. I'm not a scientist, but I've seen them work out technicalities better than most lawyers." Mia's glare hardened, and even Rockerduck had to stop schmoozing and just _listen._ "But manipulating trons is dangerous and unpredictable enough that we have to ask that you to stop your experiments before it gets to that point where you would _need_ a loophole. Right now, we're asking politely."

Rockerduck gulped, but didn't back down – at least not fully. "Fine, then. If you're so timid about this area, we can show you it's worth. We'll shut down production and research for now, pending a visit from one of your inspectors. How's that."

"It's a start." Mia grunted. "SHUSH Central will be in touch about scheduling soon." She was already turning to leave, nearly leaving behind a surprised Launchpad who shot around to join her

"Next time," Rockerduck shouted at their backs. He looked thoroughly disgruntled and unhappy – and why not? He had just been shut down right in the middle of his miracle pitch. His investors were filtering away by the second. "I should hope you would contact me in a less… publically unprofessional way."

"Fair enough." She turned back, just enough that Rockerduck could see her unimpressed expression. "So next time, I'd prefer to be able to schedule an appointment"

Then she walked away, and didn't look back again. But Launchpad did, taking note Rockerduck's lingering glare. "Wow, that was fast. And _boy,_ does he look mad!"

"Yeah." Mia said, knowing what Launchpad was talking about without even having to look. "I don't know if he'll listen to the message, but at least it was delivered. He's got no plausible deniability now. We'll keep watching, and if anything happens on his head."

"I guess. Darkwing ought to know about this stuff too. Everything he was saying about messing with trons… that never ends well." He looked over to the far side of the room, where Darkwing was still blathering on. Plumis had evidently stopped fighting it, and was instead taking avid notes. "But, I'm guessing DW will be busy for a while. This'll keep until after tonight." He glanced over at Mia, catching her eye with a smile. "And Mr. McDee's presentation isn't starting for a half hour or so. Maybe we could relax a while? Might be fun."

"Fun? In company like this?" She smiled, teasingly. "I suppose anything is possible…"

* * *

 _Across Town, On Duckburg's Boardwalk,_

Like father, like daughter – Gosalyn was also still complaining about their little spat even hours later. But unlike her father, she actually had an attentive – if begrudging - audience.

"I just don't get Dad anymore," she groused, talking _to_ Honker but not _at_ Honker. "It's not like he ever had a problem with us doing stuff together before."

Having had a lot of experience with Mallard family spats, Honker usually knew how to placate situations like this. But as the subject of this disagreement involved him, to say the least, he approached it more awkwardly. "Yeah, but we weren't officially... erm..." he reddened slightly. "...dating before."

Gosalyn waved it off. "Oh, like we haven't always been joined at the hip anyway!" She shot back, thinking of all the times since they were kids that the two had proven their bond. She quickly lost count. "If he thought we couldn't be trusted together, you think he wouldn't let us go out on patrol, alone, in the middle of the night!"

"That's different. We both know the job is way too important to sully with… er… dalliances." He blushed automatically, cursing his overly erudite vocabulary.

Gosalyn thankfully overlooked his choice of words. "But we _don't_ know the difference in actual public? Come on!" She snorted. "Did you know that my dad actually used to pull for the two of us getting together? I managed to weasel it out of Launchpad. Something about 'not trusting anybody else,' apparently. Yeah, right!"

Honker was definitely red now. Gosalyn didn't seem to know the effect her words were having. "To be fair," he said quickly, cutting her off before he could hear anything that might make him flush to death. "T-there's a bit of difference between speculating and seeing it happen in front of you."

"Oh, don't take his side," she huffed, but it was soft and there was little real anger in her words. She just couldn't stay mad now – like father, like daughter. She leaned into Honker's shoulder, only idly venting. "Always the devil's advocate. You should be angrier."

"I think he trusts us just fine." Honker said reasonably. "He's just… trying to adjust to the idea. And you know your dad – he resists things like this on principle. But he's not stopping us, is he?" Gosalyn groaned – he had a point, but she still wanted to be annoyed. Honker caught the almost-calm look on her face and smiled. "Besides, what's there to be angry about? It's a beautiful day, and I'm in the best company."

"If you're trying to be slick," she teased, knowing "slick" wasn't in Honker's dictionary, "don't forget that I just heard you use the word 'dalliances' in an actual conversation."

Honker groaned, but took the hit with a chuckle. "I mean it. Duckburg really is a gorgeous town. And the weather!" He took a deep breath. "You'd never think our cities were so close."

"I prefer the concrete jungle."

"Says the girl who wants to vacation to 'the wide open airways Cape Suzette' every year," Honker said, shooting her a teasing look right back. "I'm serious. I wouldn't mind being here for a while. I've mostly been looking at SHUSH Academy so far, but who knows? I did get accepted to Duckburg University of Chresmatistics and Kalology."

Gosalyn failed to answer, quirking Honker's concern. Gosalyn rarely failed to voice _something,_ even if it was that she didn't want to talk anymore. When he looked at her, she was staring at the ground. "Is something wrong?" He said.

"Just... schools." She sighed. You talk like that, but I know you. You already made your entire life plan five times over. Mouseton Institute of Technology, right? And then when that didn't work out you already had a backup plan in place, and a backup for that backup." Honker groaned dramatically, pretending to have been found out in some great secret. It made her smile, to see him so confident. "You've practically got your boots on to take that next step. But I'm still lacing up. It's a big choice. It's all kind of intimidating, isn't it?"

"You? Intimidated by a tough decision? What alternate universe did I accidentally fall into this time?" Honker said, half sarcastic and half genuinely surprised. "Didn't you get accepted into St. Canard College? That's a great school, not far from home."

"I'm leaning that way, but... I dunno. I guess I don't want to pick my horse just yet."

"You're running out of time to make that bet," he chided. "What about SHUSH? They offered you a college equivalent in their training program."

Gosalyn shook her head. "That's no good at all. I always liked and respected Hooter when he was Director, but you've seen how SHUSH operates, especially now. I don't want any part of that." She paused. "Well… any more of it than I have to take."

"Well, what about-"

Gosalyn cut him off. "Look, it's not that I don't have good _choices,_ it's just… look, I've got a good thing here, you know? What if I just did online courses? I could go to school _and_ keep protecting St. Canard. Rather than picking just one."

"And then you can keep doing exactly what you're doing, without school upsetting your life." Honker said slowly, working through what the problem really was. He winced. "Oh, Gos..."

"What?" She pushed slightly away from him, eyes narrowing into the same look she had given her father not long before.

He flinched at the glare, but kept going. "Well, it sounds like what's really bugging you is the change."

"Maybe, but so what? Like I said, why upset something good? We just saved all of St. Canard not long ago, together. We can't do that when we're all split halfway across the state!"

"You've got nothing to worry about, Gos. We're not going to grow apart just because of a little-."

"Psh." She rolled her eyes, literally waving that whole direction away. "I'm not worried about losing _you._ No offense. It's just… sometimes I look around my neighborhood and think, 'what if this all falls apart because I'm not here?' It's happened before, it could happen again. It probably _will_ happen again."

"Spoken like a true superhero."

"I'm serious! What if, while I'm off playing the good student, everything goes to heck in a handbasket? There could be another Negaduck on the rise right now! Or worse, what if I come back and I've lost what it takes to… erm…" She trailed off and looked away, suddenly evasive. But Honker followed her eyes and saw her staring at the rooftops, looking wistful. And at once, he understood.

"You won't lose Crimson, either." Honker said earnestly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll admit, you've always loved the hero life more than me. Maybe even more than your dad does."

"Please. _Nobody_ loves being a hero more than him."

"Doubtful, but even if that were true - you thrive off the stress and rise to the conflict. It makes you stronger, it always has. Your dad saw it from the moment he adopted you. And I always saw it too… I… I guess it's what drew me to you, when we were kids." Now it was Gosalyn's turn to turn red – much like seeing Scrooge flustered, it was a rare occasion in its own right. "So you can't hit the rooftops for a while. So what? If seven years of swearing it off couldn't drain the hero out of you, I'd be surprised if living few miles out of town and taking a few classes could."

"Jeez, you're just full of advice today." Gosalyn said, pretending to be irritated. "Great. I'm dating my therapist."

Honker looked at her, genuinely confused. "Isn't that part of the 'significant other' job description? And the sidekick position. Not the mention the "best friends for years" bit. Besides, you've given _me_ loads of serious therapy over the years. Mostly the 'sink or swim' kind…"

Gosalyn raised an eyebrow, ignoring his sarcasm. "'Significant other?' 'Dalliances.' What kind of love stories have _you_ been watching?"

"Evidently, the ones with intelligent protagonists."

"Just a barrel of laughs, Honk-man." They shared a grin, though she took note of the concern still on his face. "But really, I get it. It's not serious, I swear. I'm just… worried."

"You really _are_ turning into your dad."

"Don't you dare! I'm not that much of a worrywart!" She nudged him in the ribs, cutting off his laughter. "But I guess it's easier to have boundless confidence when you're a kid, huh?"

"Please," Honker said, rubbing his poked midsection. "Confidence never was easy for _me._ But then, that's what I had you for. Thanks for that, by the way."

Gosalyn smirked. "Oh, that's all I was, huh? An easy source of pats on the back?"

"Well, that and giving Tank his just desserts every once in a while."

She was about to fire back with another stinger, when they spotted something in the distance – or rather someone.

"Hey, isn't that Mrs. Beakley?" She asked, pointing to a small bistro at the end of the boardwalk. There, sitting under an umbrella with someone whose back was to them, was clearly the old woman they had said goodbye to not long before. "I thought she was back at McDuck's place."

Honker squinted, peering in the direction Gosalyn indicated until he spotted her too. "So it is. She must have gone out for a bit."

Gosalyn raised an eyebrow. "Isn't she sick? Why would she come out this far alone?"

Honker shrugged. "Want to go find out?"

"Got nothing better to do…"

The quickly made their way over to the bistro. As they got closer, they saw that Mrs. Beakley was actually in a very deep conversation – or at least, she was being given a very long monologue. She didn't notice them approach, but whoever she was with was gabbing up a storm. Mrs. Beakley couldn't seem to get a word in edgewise but, being the kindly old lady she was, she was listening intently.

"… and then he says I have to have a distinctive gimmick," the woman was saying. " _He_ doesn't even have a gimmick, but _I_ need one to get the job? I swear… but I showed them, I'd say, I-"

Gosalyn and Honker walked up behind Mrs. Beakley's companion, waving. "Hey, Mrs. B!" Gosalyn shouted.

She waved back, with a smile. "Gosalyn! Hello, dear! How funny, running into you and your young man here!"

Honker reddened at being called "her young man," but Gosalyn – as usual – kept on going. "Same! What brings you to the beach?"

"Oh! Where are my manners!" Mrs. Beakley gasped. She gestured to her companion, who was looking rather irritated at the interruption. "My niece happened to be in town, and she seems to like this restaurant. She insisted we meet here."

For the first time, Gosalyn and Honker really paid attention the woman sitting across from Mrs. Beakley. She shot them an annoyed glance, but that was nothing on the looks on their faces. She wore stylish shades and a hat, and was a bit too dolled up for a casual day out, but the two of them could still easily recognize her very familiar face.

" _Bianca Beakley?"_ They both gasped in shock.

Honest confusion crossed the supervillain's face. "Yeah, what's it to... wait, Gosalyn?" She faltered, taking a good look at Gosalyn's features. Her eyes opened wide. "Not... Gosalyn _Mallard?_ "

Gosalyn said nothing – only, to Bianca's obvious discomfort, responding with a vicious staredown. Honker was already checking the surrounding area. If things went south, they wanted a way to get Mrs. Beakley out of there and keep anybody from getting hurt.

"Oh, you two have met?" Mrs. Beakley said brightly, completely oblivious. "I suppose it's possible. You're both from St. Canard, aren't you?"

"You could say that," Bianca said awkwardly. She found it hard to look away from Gosalyn's furious stare, even for a moment. "It was a long time ago... er... before my current circumstances..."

"Yeah," Gosalyn grunted. She didn't break her glare either. "Long time ago."

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Beakley said happily. "Bianca was just telling me about how she had to take a break from her news career to... what was it dear? Star in a movie?"

"Yes. I was _playing_ a criminal mastermind," Bianca said pointedly, giving Gosalyn a meaningful look. The message was clear: _"don't ruin my cover, or I'll make us both regret it."_

Honker put a hand on Gosalyn's shoulder, but she didn't need his advice this time. It was a sour situation. They didn't have their suits, and running off and changing could tip off either Beakley about their secret identities - not to mention put Mrs. Beakley in real danger. It was better to play along for now.

But that didn't mean she had to take it lying down. "Oh, I don't know about _mastermind,"_ She smirked. "It was more of a bit role."

Bianca choked on her own indignity, but forced herself to calm down – knowing Gosalyn was trying to get a rise out of her. She bit back a response, and forced an obviously fake smile.

Still clueless, Mrs. Beakley continued the conversation. She seemed to be enjoying the chance to lead the chat. "Of course! I think I did hear about something like that. But our sides of the family are so out of touch these days..."

"I'm sure," Gosalyn said evenly, finally breaking her dirty look. She turned to Mrs. Beakley, smiling as though nothing had happened. "In that case, I wouldn't want to get in the way of you guys' reunion. I'll see you later, okay?"

Bianca flinched. "W-what?" Bianca yelped, waving her hands in a very unsubtle way. "No, you just got here. Stay, and have a drink!"

"Nonsense, Bianca," Mrs. Beakley chuckled, stifling coughs. "Those two are in each other's company! Let them enjoy their youth."

Honker didn't blush this time, but he did give Mrs. Beakley a smile and a stiff "thank you, ma'am."

Gosalyn gave Mrs. Beakley a hug, but her eyes narrowed as she took in the woman's pallid demeanor. "Try to stay out of the sun, Mrs. B. You don't look too good." She threw a last look at Bianca, and this time her meaning was clear: _"if anything happens to her, I'll make you regret it."_ Bianca scowled, but Gosalyn couldn't care less about her reaction.

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Beakley replied – again missing the nonverbal battle in front of her. "But I'm sure I'll be fine."

Gosalyn and Honker pretended to be satisfied with her reassurance, but before Bianca could make another attempt to keep them there they quickly waved goodbye and beat a retreat – leaving the two Beakleys alone at the bistro.

Bianca stared after them, her eye twitching.

Mrs. Beakley giggled, a little roughly given her cough. "What a wonderful young lady, isn't that right Bianca?"

Bianca, who even before Gosalyn showed up had yet to pay much sympathy to her aunt or her health, waved this off. "Er… sure, whatever." She said abruptly. "Sorry, but I have to make a phone call."

"Oh!" Mrs. Beakley blinked, surprised. "Of course, my dear. Take your time."

Without another word, Bianca jumped out of her seat – knocking it over – and hurried around the corner to where the bistro's dumpster sat. Checking the area, she made absolutely sure that nobody was around to hear her, and then she activated a bud in her ear.

"Hello? Anybody there? _HELLO?"_

" _Easy britches, mate,"_ came the accented voice of a certain felonious otter. _"I'm here. Though I don't know why you are. Emergency's only on your end, remember? What, bistro run outta biscuits?"_

Bianca gritted her teeth. "This is an _actual_ emergency, you twit!" She shouted. "I just ran into someone who might have made me!"

Rowe's tone changed immediately. " _What? But all you had to do was entertain the old biddy! How'd that go wrong?!"_

"Apparently my aunt knows that little girl that helped Darkwing bring me in years back, and she just _happened_ to stroll by. There's no doubt that she remembered me."

There was a long silence. Broken, to her fury, by Quackerjack's jumping onto the line.

" _Bianca Beakley: Traumatic to Minors! Hee hee! That's a hoot!"_

"Can we get serious?" she hissed. "And aren't you supposed to be waiting tables or something?"

" _That's right! Turns out_ I _do my job without getting caught, who'd've thought?"_ Quackerjack said, in an infuriatingly teasing voice. _"I only said it because Camille didn't… for some reason."_

Rowe's voice chimed in. _"That_ is _a bit weird, mate. Camille, you on the line or what?"_

"Can we get back to _me?!"_ Bianca screeched, loud and shrill enough that she could hear a pair of yelps from the other side of the line. "Look, I tried to play it off but she didn't buy it! And I couldn't stop her from leaving without making a scene! She'll go straight to the cops! Or worse!"

" _Then get out of there."_ Rowe said reasonably. _"Neither the girl nor the old lady should be able get back to the mansion in time to get in the way anyway, and we can't have you getting caught and putting the city on high alert in ways we can't control."_

"Gee, really?" Bianca droned. "I hadn't considered that."

" _Or you can stay there and get into an action packed fistfight with the cops,"_ Quackerjack shot back. _"At least then we'd get some fun out of this snafu. Hoo hoo!"_

" _Yeah… don't do that, mate."_

There was the sound of dual "clicks," signifying that the two had both hung up. Bianca groaned, pulling hard on one of her bangs until it hurt too much to continue.

"Such a big help!" She ranted. "Ugh! Those two would make _wonderful_ producers."

Rowe was right, though – however much she didn't want to admit it. Cutting her losses and getting out of there was the best course of action, unless she wanted to get nabbed. Her aunt would just have to get caught up with her life later.

She rushed back to their table to break the bad news, but her escape was cut short when she saw a nasty sight. The table was tipped over, the umbrella was upended, and her aunt was below it all. As far as Bianca could tell, she had apparently gotten up to right the chair Bianca had knocked over earlier, but somewhere along the way had ended up on the ground.

Bianca tentatively went to her side. "Um… Auntie?" She asked weakly, shaking her shoulder. Mrs. Beakley shuddered, but only feebly. Her breath was ragged with coughs. "Are you… er… alright, there?"

Mrs. Beakley blinked her eyes open, but they were pale and unfocused. "Oh, don't bother dear…" she rasped. "It's just… the heat…" She trailed off, falling into unconsciousness.

It was certainly not the heat. Or at least, not _just_ the heat. Bianca hadn't paid attention when her aunt mentioned feeling unwell, but clearly she should have. This looked like severe exhaustion. Mrs. Beakley was sweating horribly, and seemed to be unable to so much as lift herself off the ground. Perhaps not staying in bed was a bad idea after all.

Bianca scowled again. Of all the rotten luck: first she gets made, and now this. No jury in the world would show mercy after a sweet old lady – let alone one tight with Scrooge McDuck - got sent to the hospital after Bianca, a _supervillain_ , lured her away from safety. Especially once the Five set off their master plan tonight.

Her first instinct was to just continue cutting her losses and beat a hasty retreat, but that would look even worse. Mallard had spotted her, and was probably on her way to call the cops. Ditching her sickly aunt now would cause a more unpleasant scene than getting her to some kind of help and vanishing as soon as she could.

The good deed might even score her some brownie points. Not that she had any particular interest in karma.

But the question was: where to take her? A big hospital would inevitably discover who she was very quickly. And this wasn't her town – she didn't know where the smaller places were. There didn't seem an easy way to deal with this problem and protect herself at the same time – and she _hated_ that.

Luckily, a way out was about to present itself. "Hello there!" Came an awkward sounding voice from behind her. "I was just passing by and… do you need some help?"

She stood corrected - of all the _fabulous_ luck!

* * *

 _Meanwhile, Outside McDuck Manor_

Rowe trudged back to the ready position, grumbling under his breath about "incompetent ex-reporters." McDuck Manor was empty – something he had to remind himself here and there just because of how _grand_ it was to see – so nobody was around to hear him.

Nobody except, perhaps, his temporary partner.

Cementhead stood under a tree not far from the entrance, just outside the range of McDuck's many security cameras. He was watching the entrance, perhaps feeling that same unease. When Rowe approached, he turned his head ever so slightly to regard him.

"Problem, _boss?_ "

"Don't call me boss." He grunted. "And yeah, mate. Beakley got made. We'll have to step things up. Bushie's gonna make us into fertilizer – he spent weeks planning this thing right down to the minute."

"That bird is a bit of a drain, I ever tell you that?"

Rowe wasn't sure which bird Cementhead was talking about, but the idea of agreeing with the the brute made his lip curl. "We all have our shortcomings, mate."

"Some moreso than others."

"Let's just get to it, shall we?" Rowe said snappishly.

Cementhead shrugged, but he did turn back to the Manor. "Care to explain the plan again, _boss?"_

Rowe's took a deep breath to restrain a snarl. "Simple, mate. We get in. And then we do whatever we want."

"Sounds like my kind of job." Cementhead grinned, cracking his enormous knuckles with a sound like splintered trees.

"I'm sure, mate. But whatever you do, do it loud. This time, we _want_ attention."

"Loud? That won't be a problem." Cementhead chuckled. He stomped forward through the estate, shaking the ground with every step, until he faced the doors to the mansion. Scrooge's security had to have caught a look at him already, but he didn't care: without stopping, he stepped up to the door and raised his hand as if about to knock.

And so he knocked. And the door was ripped right off of its hinges…

* * *

 _Back At The Conference,_

A half hour later found Darkwing leaning against a wall on the wrong end of veritable mob of reporters, politicians and business – that is, the end not pointed at him.

By this point, Scrooge's presentation was underway and he had long since lost his audience. Scrooge had the crowd huddled around a stage, where he stood next to a canvas covered by a tarp explaining the situation in St. Canard for those less invested. But since Darkwing _was_ invested, he already knew everything Scrooge was saying about "Duckburg's sister city still being in dire straits even after some recovery" and McDuck "intending to use his resources to spearhead breathing life back," so he had nothing to do but stand around, play costumed security guard and wait for better news.

What he really wanted to know was _what_ resources Scrooge intended to use, but as the pomp and circumstance went on even that thought was starting to lull. At the moment he only had Fenton for company, and already he was starting to think Gosalyn had the right idea skipping out on the whole thing and enjoying Duckburg instead. Perhaps he _was_ too harsh on her after all.

Sighing that thought away for now, he scanned the crowd for what felt like the hundredth time – boring, but a necessity: at some point, Fenton had sidled up to him and refused to leave. What's more, he was evidently even more of a chatterbox in his secret identity than he was as Gizmoduck - He had spent the last twenty minutes talking about _bean shipments_ of all things, and Darkwing really needed the distraction. Over by the hors d'oeuvres table, he could see Launchpad and Agent Mia chatting quietly as they watched Scrooge schmooze. Darkwing half-smiled, half-grimaced – at least _somebody_ was having a good time.

Amongst the billionaires he counted out a few known faces, taking note that Flintheart Glomgold had finally arrived. As if he could feel Darkwing's eyes on him, Glomgold turned to glance at him, sneered, and turned his gaze back to Scrooge. Darkwing scowled – the guy made his skin crawl. But he had faced worse in his life than stuffy

Away from the stage, but not so far away as Darkwing himself, a few members of the staff were watching the presentation together, underneath the painted banner. He hoped they were on break – last thing he needed was disgruntled employees making things difficult.

But in any case, the only ones not watching were Huey, Dewey and Louie – who seemed to be having some sort of heated conversation among themselves. They seemed so blasé about the hullabaloo going on around them that Darkwing had to wonder how many of these big name events they'd had to sit through in their lives. Knowing their Uncle, it was possibly even more than _he_ had.

Darkwing grunted as he realized his circle of observations came back to himself… again. It was a good way to pass the time, but it wasn't perfect.

And plus, he couldn't ignore Fenton forever. It was rude, even for him.

"... and that's how we discovered that the shipping magnate was actually running an international counterfeit lima bean racket – to think, all because one, single shipment was a mere 227 beans short! Gosh, you wouldn't believe…"

Then again…

He settled on a compromise: at the risk of hurting Fenton's feelings, actually asking him to shut up. "Er… look, _Mr. Crackshell._ This has really been fascinating, but in order to adequately do my job protecting this hall from danger, I'm going to need absolute si-"

At this moment, Darkwing's communicator went off - and he internally praised whatever gods manned the radio waves that it did. At once, he pulled even further away from the commotion and prepared to take the call with as much privacy as he could find.

Which, unfortunately, was not as much as he would've liked. Not with Fenton was right there with him. "Wait, what were you going to say? What do you need?"

"Sssh!" Darkwing hissed, gesturing for him to keep his voice down. He quickly waved for Launchpad to come over and dipped into a corner – with Fenton in tow, as unfortunately there was no leaving him out of this - waiting impatiently for his sidekick to break off from his conversation and join them before answering the line.

Gosalyn's face came up from the other side. She wasn't in uniform, but she wouldn't have used this line unless she were in private and had important news, so it was all business. Mostly. "Crimson… I'm sorry about earlier, I-"

" _Thanks Darkwing, but there'll be time for that later."_ Gosalyn said curtly, her tone instantly confirming Darkwing's worries. _"I've got bad news. I just ran into Bianca Beakley."_

"You what? _Ran into her?_ Where?"

" _She's at the boardwalk, outside a quaint little bistro, eating biscuits and chatting it up with Mrs. Beakley."_

"Talking to herself?" Launchpad whispered. "That's weird, even for an ego that big! Then again, you do that sometimes, right DW?"

"Not helping, LP!"

Fenton put a hand on his shoulder, and Darkwing fought the urge to grind his teeth. "No worries, Wingy. I do it too, sometimes."

"Not _helping_ , bucketbeak!"

Gosalyn helpfully chose to ignore that last bit of conversation. Darkwing could have hugged her. _"No, I mean the_ _ **Mrs.**_ _Beakley who lives with Mr. McDuck!"_ There was a murmur as Techno said something offscreen, to which Crimson nodded. _"Yeesh! Thanks for putting the image of a married Bianca Beakley in my head…"_

Darkwing facepalmed. "Let me guess," he deadpanned. "They're related."

" _Got it in one. Apparently Mrs. Beakley is Bianca's niece."_

"Well, that figures."

"You know," Launchpad mused. "I never made the connection..."

" _Tech and I are still in the area,"_ Crimson continued. _"We want to make sure Mrs. Beakley is safe: nothing dangerous seemed to be going on, but I don't like it all the same. According to Mrs. Beakley, Bianca was insistent on pulling Mrs. Beakley out of the house and to that specific bistro."_

Darkwing's eyes narrowed. "But isn't she sick? That's… suspicious." He shared a glance with Launchpad, who shrugged. "A random attempt to catch up I could almost believe, but..."

Fenton crossed his arms. "With Mr. McDuck, if things don't add up then you're really in for disaster. Especially when it's something completely innocuous! Is Mrs. Beakley alright?"

" _When we left she was fine. A little weary, but… it's definitely weird, right? Mrs. Beakley was all alone at the mansion anyway, minus the security system. Bianca wouldn't have had much to worry about. But it's like she pulled her as far..."_ She stopped suddenly. Techno could be heard gasping next to her. _"As far away..."_ She said slowly, trailing off as the gears in her head turned, _"… from McDuck Manor... as she could possibly get..."_

The line went quiet for a moment, as father and daughter both realized the implications.

" _On second thought,_ " she said curtly. _"I think we'll double back to the estate."_

Darkwing nodded with a grimace. "Good idea, Crimson. Keep me posted."

"Golly, that's troubling news." Fenton said, wincing. "You don't think it's some kinda double play, do you?"

"If it is, we're not going to be caught with our feathers off. Launchpad!" he whispered under his breath, "let Agent Mia know at least one of the Five is in town, and that something strange might be going down at McDuck Manor. SHUSH will probably be able to let McDuck know without causing a panic."

"You betcha, DW!" With a salute, Launchpad leapt into action. A moment later he was weaving through the crowd, heading over to fill a concerned looking Mia in on the situation.

"If you'll excuse me, Darkwing. I need to go find my briefcase." Fenton turned to leave, but stopped as he saw something in the distance. "What? No!" He said, cringing.

Obliviously to Fenton's distress, Darkwing continued to make plans plans. "Good idea. Now is not the time to go guns blazing. Now's the time to wait and be prepared, and make sure nobody… leaves the…"

He finally turned and saw what Fenton was reacting to. On the other side of the room, Louie Duck was storming towards the exit. Huey was right behind him. And Dewey, looking a mix between frustrated and resigned, was taking up the rear. All three were out of the room before anyone could stop them.

"Oh, for Pete's sake."

"Oh, dear." Fenton said nervously. "Those boys _have_ been arguing a lot more lately."

"A lot" was a very vague term, but it didn't bode well. Darkwing looked up at McDuck. As far as he knew Scrooge had no idea what was going on yet, but he _had_ spotted the boys' spat right away. He cast a worried glance in their lost direction, but there only the briefest falter in his voice as he continued the presentation – when you're the richest duck in the world, the show must go on.

Without being obvious, Scrooge glanced over at Launchpad - but upon seeing his and Mia's tense conversation he instead gave a curt nod in Darkwing's direction, as if to ask the superhero to take care of it.

All things considered, Darkwing had to give it to him for being so efficient. He wondered if he'd still be that way once he was actually up to speed… though given McDuck's flair for control, for all they knew he was already on top of it. Either way, Launchpad and Mia would be at his side within minutes to ensure they were on the same page. It was evidently up to Darkwing to make sure his nephews were there too.

"Right now…" he said slowly. "I say they can argue all they want as long as they where we know they're safe. I'm going to get them to come back!"

"I'll come with you. You know… just in case they don't listen to you."

Darkwing didn't bother to argue. They rushed to follow the boys, but hadn't gotten but a few feet before Launchpad's voice came over the comms. _"DW, more bad news!"_

" _More_ bad news? Oy…"

" _Mia says SHUSH just got it over the police radio: someone broke into McDuck Manor, and they're not being quiet about it!"_

"Just as we thought, unfortunately. Lucky Crimson and Techno are on the way. They can handle themselves, I'm sure of it."

" _Gee, DW. You trust 'em to handle supervillains but not to handle a relationsh-"_

" _ **It's not that I don't**_ … it's just…" He stopped, noticing the smirk on Launchpad's face. Sometimes beneath Launchpad's simple exterior was a duck too playful for his own good, in DW's opinion. "You're doing that on purpose!"

" _Sorry, DW. Couldn't resist."_

"Could we possibly get alert?" Darkwing groused, putting a bit more "parent" in his tone than usual. "There's something bigger going on here, if you hadn't noticed!"

They finally came to foyer, expecting to find the triplets and bring them back. Instead, they found the room bare.

"The boys aren't here," Fenton said, a bit needlessly. "They must've taken their argument outside!"

The two nodded to each other and made to follow the triplets out. But before they could, a sharp "hey!" from behind made them stop. It was Julia Plumis, looking slightly out of breath as they turned through the door. She ran up to them, eyes narrowing with a reporter's curiosity.

"Why have you two left the presentation?" She asked her, prying eyes narrowed. "McDuck is about to make his big announcement. Finally. What would be big enough for his guest of honor and accountant to dip out now of all times."

Darkwing palmed his temple. He usually fawned over reporters, but even he hated what he called the "dark side of the press" as much as anybody. This wasn't a good time for inconvenient snooping.

"I noticed you two hurry off," she continued, likely spurred on by their irritation. "And my finely honed reporter senses went off. There's a story here, isn't there?"

She stared at the both of them, clearly expecting an answer before she would move on.

Fenton stepped forward, and Darkwing had to give him credit. All they had to do is share a look, and already he was pulling Plumis aside for a non-intrusive talk before she knew what was going on.

"A story? Psh, no. Just Mr. McDuck's nephews arguing again – boys will be boys, and all. Mr. McDuck trusts me to handle situations like this. I'm very close with the family." Plumis stared at him. He grinned sheepishly. "Really, I am!"

"Trouble in paradise?" She accepted that, though she still looked skeptical. "Makes sense. But then, why does Darkwing need to be here? Let alone leading the way?"

Fenton laughed nervously, probably buying a second to think of a good answer. Darkwing himself, meanwhile, had already slinked away towards the boys. The last thing he heard was Fenton making an actually very buyable – and flattering, always a plus – excuse.

"Er… well, he's a role model isn't he?" Fenton was saying - Darkwing grinned just hearing it. "He'll get the boys on the right track."

He had the urge to go back and bask in the compliment, just for a moment. But he had a job to do, so like a good role model he was he darted outside… where everything was much louder. It didn't take long to figure out where the boys were.

"I can't believe you Lou!" Huey was ranting, pacing back and forth a looking not unlike an overflowing volcano with his red overtones. "A year off? _**A YEAR OFF?!**_ You want to just skive away and laze around for an entire year instead of finishing school? What's wrong with you?!"

"I don't know why it's any of your business, but yes Hue. I do." Louie said, though he looked more determined than he sounded. "It's just… I just don't know what I want to do with my life. So sue me!"

"Sue you? I'll do more than sue you! After every way Uncle Scrooge has helped us figure those things out, you still don't know?"

"It's a little disappointing is all, Lou." Dewey said, trying to be the only semi-reasonable one there. "We know you've got potential, we just don't like seeing you… not use it, I guess."

"So I've got 'potential' now? That's rich. You know who else had potential? Uncle Scrooge. Do you know how hard it is to look at that image and just feel… inadequate by comparison?"

"Uncle Scrooge got to be as great as he is through _hard work,_ Lou! He must've told us that a hundred times by the time we were ten, if you'd just listened. I swear, you've always been lazy-"

"Hard work and direction, Huey. He knew where he was going. And, I just… you two are headed for such great things. Your studies, your internships… and I have no idea if I have a place like that."

"Of course you do. We were always to go into business _together,_ bro. That's not going to change."

"Unless you bail on us, that is," Huey fumed. "What're we supposed to do without you?"

"And I'd do _what,_ exactly?" Louie snapped, raising his voice for the first time. "I'm not as smart or headstrong as you two. I don't have Uncle Scrooge's gumption. I want to be a part of… whatever triplet destiny we've got going here, but I just need to know what my part of it is supposed to be. Can't you understand _that?_ "

Huey and Dewey both began to respond, and since this seemed like a very tense, very important conversation, Darkwing was almost tempted to let it go on. He felt like a heel for even thinking about breaking it up, but time was of the essence. In the face of possible danger by supervillain plot, cutting off an awkward and painful brotherly conversation seemed like a rather minor pitfall – like tearing off a band-aid.

"Boys, I'm sure we can settle this later. But it ''is'' going to have to wait."

Huey glanced up, and immediately scoffed. "Stay out of this, Darkwing. This is between brothers."

"I understand that, but it's not a good time. We need to get you back inside before…"

The ground exploded beneath their feet. Gigantic vines burst from the foundation of the conference hall, throwing Darkwing and the boys back and cutting him off from Fenton.

He landed roughly on the ground, but years of experience allowed him to throw himself back to his feet little worse for the wear. A quick glance at the boys showed him that they were alright for now – they were already picking themselves up as well - but any look at the building made it very clear that it was going to be another story entirely.

A wall of green now covered its outside, restricting every door, every window and every crevice. And as far as Darkwing could tell, there was no longer any way in.

He gulped. "…something… bad… happens…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** It's kind of funny that Mrs. Beakley and Bianca Beakley have the same last name. I hadn't realized that when I decided to put Bianca Beakley in this story, but once I realized that her part in this basically wrote itself. For those who don't quite remember, Bianca Beakley knows Gosalyn personally, because she attempted to use her as a patsy during her first crime spree back when she was a kid. Neither of them have forgotten since.

The new Ducktales came out as I was putting the finishing touches on this particular chapter. Huey, Dewey and Louie's personalities are largely based on their older television personalities, particularly in Quack Pack (with Louie as the "moral" one, Dewey as the "smart" one, and Huey as the hotheaded "leader"), which has a few differences from the way they're portrayed now. I thought about referencing the new Ducktales with Webby growing into something like her Ducktales personality, but I couldn't think of a great way to insert her into the plot. Fenton, on the other hand, was a fun addition. I've always liked the way Fenton is kind of a doofus with an overeager streak, but Gizmoduck shows a part of him that is very different, so I like having him as Fenton involved.

As for our Duck reference of the day: John D. Rockerduck (named for John Rockefeller, of course) is another nemesis of Scrooge's from the comics. He can generally be described as less evil than Glomgold, but still unscrupulous and greedy, so he's great for a rich antagonist who's powerful and problematic, but not a monster.

 _Next Time:_ The Five's attack and their employer schemes finally come to their finality, with mass mayhem, precision theft and a personal strike at Scrooge himself that may shake the entire family if Darkwing can't stop it! The Fearsome Five's return, to be concluded in **The Great Duckburg Hat Trick - Part 2!**


	4. The Great Duckburg Hat Trick Pt 2

**Disclaimer: **This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where Negaduck has recently nearly taken over St. Canard with a multi-dimensional army, and now after his defeat the world is going through a few changes.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Retake Five - The Great Duckburg Hat Trick - Pt. 2**

* * *

 _Elsewhere In Duckburg_

"Let me start by thanking you again for your help. If you hadn't come along when you did…" Bianca Beakley said, putting on an award-winning air of gratitude and concern. The thin man who had helped save her aunt bowed courteously, if a bit awkwardly.

Little did he know he had done her another service. Now that she had him to take care of the medical crisis, she could ditch them both and escape scot free without her aunt's misfortune on her conscience – or more to be precise, her rap sheet.

That said, she would've been more confident about this plan had he actually brought them to a hospital. This place looked like some sort of mad scientist's junkyard. Bizarre devices packed this small place, yet not a first aid kit to be found. Patsy or not, she was going to be in a heap of trouble if her aunt didn't get some actual medical attention. What kind of idiot _was_ this guy?

"Don't mention it, m'lady. Mrs. Beakley and I are actually old friends." He grasped her hand and shook it vigorously. "Gyro Gearloose, at your service!"

"Oh, _that_ kind of idiot" she said under her breath. "Swell." That certainly explained it: the overwhelming air of nerdiness, the lack of focus, why they were in this cockamamie place rather than an actual hospital. She had done reports on Duckburg's golden genius before, of course.

It was before her stint in prison, obviously, but she still got what she felt was a good read on the guy. Honestly, she was almost surprised he hadn't accidentally sent himself and half of Duckburg to Venus yet.

"A… pleasure… I'm sure," she droned. "But why are we _here?_ I thought you would take us to the emergency room or something."

"My lab is a lot closer!" Gyro said brightly. "Plus, I have just the thing to help."

"Right. After all, who wants to be treated by an actual medical professional?"

Gyro either missed her tone completely or pretended not to. "I knew you'd get it. Ah, here it is!' A slight fluttering filled the air, and Bianca jumped as a robot leapt onto a nearby table. It wasn't the first time she had seen one, but this one's lightbulb-on-a-stick design weirded her out. It was carrying some sort of gas mask, which Gyro happily took. "Thank you, Helper!"

"This is one of my most vital inventions," he said, putting the mask over Mrs. Beakley's mouth. He pulled a chemical vial out of his coat and inserted it into the sides, and bright neon gas started filtering out of the mask. "I'm thinking of calling it the Resurrespirator! Or something without so many syllables. I often find working myself to exhaustion to be a real problem, so I built a device that rejuvenates the body and helps worn out muscles recover. It's a real lifesaver!"

If half of what she had heard about Gyro Gearloose was true, this invention was about as likely to liquify her aunt's head as it was to revolutionize medicine. But either way, it got her off the hook. She definitely had plausible deniability now.

But her aunt seemed to be looking a bit better now, at least. All she needed to do was find an opportunity to split. She excused herself to "wander about the lab," planning to dip out the front door… only to find herself distracted by the strange inventions littering the room. Soon, she was _actually_ wandering about the lab.

"What is all this stuff, anyway?" She said, eyeing a particularly unpleasant looking blob of viscous material that she could _swear_ was eyeing her funny.

Gyro was still helping Mrs. Beakley, but looked up long enough to see what she was talking about. "Oh! Just a few essential inventions of mine. That one's Growver, my latest test subject" He said, indicating the blob. "He may look garish, but put him in your garden and your posies will grow three times as fast!"

Bianca scoffed. "Posies. Right." Her lip curled just thinking about it.

"Next to those are my Sounder Rebounders!" Gyro continued on, drawing Bianca's attention to an open briefcase on a counter. Inside were several discs with what looked like speakers inside them. She tapped one, and it began to hover over her head. She tapped it again, and it dropped back into the case.

"For TV lovers, music lovers, you name it!" Gyro explained. "People are always looking for the perfect surround sound experience, but with these you can tell them exactly where to fly and make your own. You should try it with Beethoven!"

This caught Bianca's attention, but her focus broke as Gyro went on with the tour. "And there-" he said, gesturing to a set of racks next to the counter. "-are my Walkers!" Bianca gaped – the racks were full of complicated doohickeys with axles, motors and most noticeably shoes attached to them. "Turns out you can make anything walk if you've got the knowhow. Walking lamps, walking bathtubs, walking trash cans. It's a completely unexplored essential for urban life!"

She wasn't sure if she agreed, but it was so bizarre that she decided to drop it. Duckburg could be so unbearably strange – she couldn't wait to get back to St. Canard where things made sense. Although…

"Those rebounder things…" she asked "innocently." "Can they record things too?"

"Of course! You could even make your very own mix CD with these! Heh, not that I've tried." Gyro turned a little red. Bianca smirked. "And… er… if you'll excuse me, I've to monitor these chemical levels."

"You do that," Bianca said, almost too quiet for anyone to hear. Perhaps this diversion wasn't a waste after all.

Six minutes later, Gyro finally pulled the mask off of Mrs. Beakley's face. She was looking as good as new – not only were all signs of exhaustion gone, but she looked significantly less pale in general. As he had hoped, the Ressurrespirator's medical potential was far beyond simple exhaustion. He would have to check up on her later, but this could have very well knocked her flu symptoms out completely! He would have to check this one up on the "success" list!

He whipped around – before he could even see her, he was giving Mrs. Beakley's niece the good news. "You've got nothing to worry about! Your aunt going to make a complete – and I mean _complete –_ recovery. She should wake up in a few… minutes… hello?" There was no one there. Not even a fibre of black hair to be seen. "Where did you go?"

He scanned the room, but she was nowhere to be seen. At first he thought she might have gone to the bathroom, or something equally innocuous, until he realized that she wasn't the only thing missing.

"Hey! Where are my Sounder Rebounders?!"

Suddenly he was hit by a vague memory. Hadn't he once done an interview with a reporter named Bianca Beakley, from St. Canard? And he thought he might have read something about that very same reporter later on. Something about… an arrest, for supervillainy?

"Oh dear!" He gasped. "That's no good…"

* * *

 _Outside Duckburg Park Conference Hall,_

"It looks more like the Duckburg Botanical Garden, now!"

Darkwing had been gaping at the giant cabbage that had once been an elegant piece of Duckburg's fine architecture, and turned around to see the Duck triplets standing right behind him doing the same. If he were honest, he had momentarily forgotten they were there, so he wasn't sure which one had spoken. But whoever it was had a knack for saying exactly what he was thinking.

Obviously, this was bad.

Luckily, Darkwing was not only a duck of thought – he was a duck of action! "Not for long!" He cried, springing onto the vines. This was almost certainly Bushroot's handiwork, and he always had a surefire tool on hand for just such an occasion. "This is a job for my buzzsaw cufflinks."

A press of a button on his lapel spawned a pair of whirling blades off of his wrists, which he drove into the vines, expecting the felonious fauna to give way like butter...

So it was quite a surprise when, with a loud *SNAP*, he had dive to the ground as his cufflinks first made sparks fly just from contact, then one of them outright broke off and ricocheted into the distance.

"Then again…"

Dewey and Louie ran to Darkwing's side and helped him up, each asking at once what they should do next. He spotted Huey throwing himself onto the vines and trying to tear them off bare-handed..

"Uncle Scrooge, Launchpad and Fenton are in there!" Louie cried. "We gotta do something!"

Dewey nodded nervously. "Not to mention all those other people, and the prototype!"

They weren't wrong. It was bad, and while Darkwing was the last person to deny that he was for the second time that night on the wrong side of the situation. But he also knew there was a time for panic and a time for rational thought, and he prided himself on _usually_ knowing the difference. At least, more than half of the time. So he stepped forward and put a hand of Huey's shoulder, calmly easing him away from the vines. "They're as good as saved," he said reassuringly, "but we'll have to figure this out first. Clearly, Bushroot is upping his game."

"Bushroot? A real supervillain?" Despite the situation, Louie's eyes lit up.

"We've fought supervillains before, Lou," Huey groaned.

Dewey stopped them before they could start arguing again. "But how can we help?"

Huey raised an eyebrow. "Beyond calling his plane," he stuck his thumb in Darkwing's direction, "and bombarding a time-honored public landmard?"

Darkwing raised his hand. "No time for sarcasm now! Not that we can help that…" He chuckled to himself. "We just need to find a way." He checked his communicator. Launchpad's frequency was being jammed, which didn't bode well. But perhaps there was another way to get a word inside.

Pressing his ear to the vines, he tried to make out anything on the other side. There were a few assorted sounds, probably voices. In an try to get heir attention, he shouted: "Can anyone hear us in there?!"

There a long moment, before Darkwing could finally make out a clear voice coming through. It was muffled and barely audible, and there was some kind of distracting sound clicking in his ear, but he could _just_ hear it. Fenton!

"Hello? Hello?! Are you there, Darkwing?" He was saying. "It's me, Fenton Crackshell. I'm still here with Mrs. Plumis. There's no way out!"

Darkwing nodded. At least they were okay. "Do you know what's going on?" He shouted even louder. It was harder to hear than he thought. "What's that clicking?" He asked to himself. He turned to the boys. "Is that you?"

They shrugged. Sighing, Darkwing went back to the vine – having almost missed Fenton's reply.

"Besides finding new definitions for the word growth industry?" Fenton asked. Luckily, he seemed to hear Darkwing just fine. "I'm afraid we're totally in the dark! Except, of course, the lights are on."

Darkwing groaned, which another voice on the other side seemed to mistake for a confused sound.

"I know you're nervous, Mr. Crackshell," came what must have been Plumis' voice, "but stop tapping on the door! He can probably barely hear us."

Darkwing paused. Fenton was the one making the clicking? It was true it was distracting, but maybe that was the point! He hadn't paid attention to it _specifically_ before, but…

" _Of course!"_ he thought, realizing what Fenton was up to. To the untrained ear it would sound like nervous tapping, but as a staunch boy scout who sleeps with a copy of the handbook under his bed, Darkwing knew it right away now that he knew to listen. Morse Code! Clearly Fenton's clever way of giving him special information, without giving himself away.

As a guy who's only got to hear cliff notes from three kids who liked to quote the handbook, Fenton's Morse Code wasn't perfect… but he did his best.

"S-U-I-T I-N H-U-L-L. S-O-U-N-D-S O-F T-R-I-B-B-L-E. W-O-N-T B-E-E E-A-S-Y."

"Keep calm!" Darkwing shouted back. "You'll all be alright. Gizmoduck is in there!"

"He is?" Dewey asked.

Huey sighed in relief. "Uncle Scrooge never leaves anything to chance, does he? But… if he's here then…" The boys looked at each other, and went into some kind of a huddle. Figuring that he could find out what that was all about later, Darkwing went back to the vine.

"He's lying in wait. All he has to do is find the right moment to strike, and I know he'll save the day." He stopped, trying to think of one last bit of advice. "He could probably use a distraction, though…"

"Gotcha!" Fenton voice came bright as ever, the picture of an eager civilian. "We'll do whatever we can!"

At the same time, Darkwing made out his message as Gizmoduck, a short and sweet "G-O-O-D L-U-C-K, W-A-N-G-Y."

Darkwing scowled. He would clearly have to teach the tin can how some simple scout tricks when he had the time. And speaking of scouts…

He turned back to the boys, intending to brainstorm a plan, only to find that they were already making ready to go in the opposite direction

"Hey!" He shouted. "Where are you three going?"

"The Money Bin!" Louie said, short of breath.

"What? Why?"

"We just realized!" Dewey explained. "If Uncle Scrooge and Gizmoduck are stuck in there, then this would be the perfect time for an attack!"

"That… _is_ a possibility," Darkwing said a bit skeptically, largely because he wasn't ready for this day to get any worse. "Especially since they're already distracting the cops at McDuck Manor…"

"They're doing _what, where?!"_

"Look, calm down!" He said sharply. This was already proving to be a pain. "The Fearsome Five seem to be throwing a lot of their considerable weight at _this."_ He gestured to the wall. "If something's going down, it's probably going to be here. Not that I wouldn't want you out of the way, where there's no danger…"

Huey crossed his arms. "Call it a hunch, Darkwing. And hey, if we're wrong we just went to the safest place in the city! So you can rest easy."

"Rest easy he says..." Darkwing grumbled, though he had to respect the boys' determination. Gumption like that deserved a different approach. "I _should_ stop you... but it's a decent point."

Huey was already on his way before Darkwing finished his sentence. But Dewey stayed behind, smirking. Louie just looked unsure. "Well, that settles that." Huey announced like a troop leader. "Let's get go-"

" _But_ if you're going to go," Darkwing said, interrupting him. "I'm coming with you."

Huey froze, and stared with a bit of disbelief. "Really?"

"Told you he would," Dewey stuck his tongue out at him. "You owe me a five."

Darkwing chuckled. "If I'm right, you boys are safe. But if I'm _wrong_ , you're going to need the help. Gizmoduck can take care of this… I hope." He turned to Dewey. "You said something about a prototype?"

Dewey flushed. Clearly he had said something he shouldn't have. "Er… yes. I guess everyone else would know by now anyway." He grimaced. "Including the bad guys, probably."

"So what _is_ it, then?"

"Something big." Dewey said ominously. Neither he nor his brothers had grown out of their immature flair for the dramatic – though then again, neither had Darkwing. "It's something Gyro, SHUSH and a dozen companies Uncle Scrooge owns have been working on for _years._ You might not believe what it does…"

Darkwing scoffed. "Try me."

"Well…"

* * *

 _Inside the Conference Hall, A Few Minutes Earlier._

Scrooge McDuck bit back a sigh when he saw Huey, Dewey and Louie storm from the hall. It was obviously another argument between them, and at a very inopportune time: he wished he could follow them and drag all three of them back by their earlobes, but he had a presentation to run and this was the big moment.

Luckily, he had people on hand who could talk some sense into them. Darkwing was a father to an exceptionally spirited daughter and a caretaker to many more: Scrooge knew he could take of it. And the boys knew Fenton – not as well as they knew Launchpad, of course, but enough that he could probably help them through this rough patch if they let him. Not that they _would_ , most likely. Emotional stubbornness rather ran in the family.

Speaking of the pilot and his accountant, at any rate, it also hadn't missed his attention that Launchpad didn't go with the two of them after the boys. Instead, he disappeared in the direction of the backstage hallway, no doubt intending to tell Scrooge something that would consume his attention in a few minutes. Having been watching Darkwing closely, Scrooge could tell he also seemed on top of whatever this was as well, but it was all the more reason to finish this as quickly as possible so he could get into the fray as well. This event had cost a pretty penny, and it wouldn't make a return on that investment back if it didn't wow the world as he hoped it would.

And on that note…

"I'm sure you're all wondering what this big secret is that I've lured you here to see. Which is to say, how I plan to rebuild half a city without breaking me back in the process!" Scrooge chuckled at the crowd, receiving a little laughter back. The reporters and politicians all leaned forward in their seats, while the billionaires all regarded him with stiff backs and level stares. In the back, he could see John D. Rockerduck sulking about something or other… but his main attention was on Flintheart Glomgold, who had somehow gotten himself into the front row despite the premium press seating policy. Glomgold had a habit of interrupting press events – and he didn't need his rival's behavior today.

"Allow me to present the newest innovation soon be exclusively secured by McDuck Construction," a pair of attendants brought a large box onto the stage next to Scrooge's podium and opened it. Inside was something that looked akin to a drone mixed with a flying saucer. Scrooge pulled out a remote and, with a press of a button, the object jumped into the air and stayed there. "We call it the TeleConstructor!"

There was some applause, but most were waiting in the wings, hoping to see something bigger. The attendants returned in a moment, bringing out a backboard with a poster pinned to it featuring some very simple schematics of the device. It wasn't impressive yet, but it did make for nice background.

"Feast yer eyes on this!" Scrooge said smugly.

He emptied a bag full of sand onto the floor, shocking the crowd. The front row covered their eyes, and the photographers averted their cameras lest the dust get onto their lenses. But their film shot back to the stage as the TeleConstructor, somehow sensing the disorder, hovered over to the pile of sand.

As the Constructor flew across the stage, the air wavered below it… as if manipulated by unseen hands, the sand began to mold and reform by itself. Spritzes of water was released by the Constructor in stages to stabilize its creation as it manipulated its materials with perfect precision – forming foundations, then floors, then ceilings and spires.

"As ye can see, using state of the art telemagnetic technology, we remotely assist construction efforts like never before. Why, I wish I had one of these when I was starting out! Just look!"

He gestured back over to the TeleConstructor, for its work was finished. Within minutes, where there had been a sandy pile of dust there was now a perfect scale of Scrooge's Money Bin. If one were able to open up the front without destabilizing the sand, they would have even found accurate representations of each room within the building.

The crowd exploded with buzz and activity, reporters writing down possible questions, cameramen clicking away, politicians conferring amongst themselves… and from one corner, some very loud complaints…

"Ha! That's all?" And there it was. Scrooge flicked his eyes towards Glomgold, who was standing up and grinning nastily. "I must say, I'm not impressed! Sand castles are one thing, McDuck. Mortar and cement are another altogether!"

"So you say, Glomgold. And true, this is just a small prototype of the unique technology involved. This little toy would never be able to handle the difficult and complex niceties of a real project. But once the project is completed and the prototype, alongside the fine workers that McDuck Industries is so proud of – there will be not a single layoff, I promise! Together, we plan to cut completion times by sixty percent!"

Apparently on its own – but actually controlled by one of Scrooge's aides - the TeleConstrutor hovered above Glomgold's head and lifted his hat into the air. With a shout Glomgold leapt up to try and pull it down, only for the Constructor to drop it right on his face.

Scrooge chuckled. "And maybe go into millinery on the side, eh Flinty?"

Everyone in the room laughed – except for Glomgold, of course. "Bah!" He crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.

Satisfied that Glomgold was silenced for now, Scrooge leaned back and waited for the questions to begin. As the hands shot into the air, he pointed out the one whose face he was most familiar with.

"Webra Walters: Calisota Tonight." The elderly tv personality announced. "How extensively would you say you are planning to use these devices in the reconstruction of our fair city?"

"Thank you Webra. St. Canard is…" Scrooge began, but his eyes were drawn to something backstage. Launchpad was there, wildly gesturing to his phone. Scrooge faltered, trying to catch himself. "That is, it's…"

But Launchpad kept trying to take his attention, and Scrooge finally had to admit to being completely distracted. "One moment…" He grunted. He pulled out his own phone and checked it under the podium. There were two messages waiting to be checked, both of great importance if Launchpad's urgency was any indication.

The first from the automated system he was now quite glad Gyro insisted he install on his property – all but the Money Bin, of course. He didn't trust anything – technology or alive - with the Bin.

" _AUTOMATED SECURITY ALERT. SYSTEM ACTIVE: MCDUCK MANOR. POLICE EN ROUTE."_

The second was from Launchpad himself, and so was shorter, simpler, but no less urgent.

" _Fearsome Five about. May attack expo. Stay alert – LP."_

Apart either of those would be a concern, but together they were downright ominous. "So _that's_ what this is. Curse me kilts…" Scrooge sighed under his breath. Couldn't he have one thing without some freeloader trying to take it from him?

Still… it wasn't a _completely_ dire situation, as far as Scrooge as concerned. The Five hadn't been able to keep him down the last time they met, and that was when they were taking orders from Negaduck himself. He had little fear about their chances now.

He caught Launchpad's eye and nodded, trying to assuage the pilot's concerns. He saw him talking anxiously to a cat Scrooge was fairly certain he had met before – she worked for SHUSH, if he remembered right, and he usually did. Which meant that the organization was likely putting its hands in his affairs too. This snowball had to get headed off before it could grow too large…

"Excuse me? Mr. McDuck?"

Scrooge glanced back to the crowd, and realized that he had never answered Webra's question. Giving Launchpad a last look of acknowledgement, he continued the event for now. "Ah, yes. As I was saying, the TeleConstructor will of course factor heavily into the future of St. Canard. You see, this technology-"

"-is not yours anymore, moneybags!" Came a shout from somewhere above them.

Scrooge's eyes whipped upward. "What in-"

And at that moment, an enormous rumble shook the building. Anyone outside or by a window would know this to be the point where the plants cocooned the building. But to the people inside, it was like an earthquake hit. Scrooge was thrown to the floor, knocking the TeleConstructor out of the sky in the process. It hit the ground, sparking and smoking.

A duck in a brightly colored jester outfit landed onto the stage where Scrooge had been, followed by a female duck with wild hair holding a paintbrush and a chimp with a large trenchcoat and bright green mask.

"Ladies and gentlemen, stay in your seats!" The jester said, laughing wildly. The audience, especially those from St. Canard, all gasped loudly in fear and surprise. "This will only take a minute! Probably."

He grinned, taking a bow. Basking in the electricity in the crowd, he gestured to his comrades in turn. "Allow me to introduce my merry band of miscreants! This is Ms. Phoenix, the ever lovable One-Shot, and of course _I_ am-"

"Quackerjack!" Launchpad shouted from backstage. Ignoring his companion's shouts for him to wait, he charged forward – already winding up for a haymaker.

The wily supervillain was ready, however. "Well, if it ain't my old buddy Launchpad McQuack!" He said, grinning as he squared off to fight. "How's it been, Sven?"

Launchpad swung for his beak, but Quackerjack vaulted over his head and out of the way at the last second, leaving Launchpad off balance just in time to realize that Quackerjack's primate cohort was right behind and in a perfect position to strike back. Reaching into his trenchcoat, One-Shot pulled out what appeared to be a water balloon and pitched it straight at Launchpad. When it hit, the balloon burst into a coat of pink goo that covered Launchpad completely from his neck down, rendering him unable to move at all.

"Ugh, what _is_ this stuff?" Launchpad snapped, vainly trying to pull himself free.

Quackerjack sauntered up to him and poked the goop with one finger. "Looks like used bubble gum!" He concluded. "Tastes like it too! Hoo hoo! Bit off more than you could chew, sidekick?"

Feeling ironically spurred on by Launchpad's failed offensive, Scrooge leapt to his feet to strike while the iron was hot – as did a number of SHUSH agents hidden in the crowd, who began to storm the stage yelling "freeze!" and "you're under arrest!"

Ignoring his unwanted help, Scrooge took a swipe at the nearest crook – One-Shot - with his cane. The villain dodged and instantly pulled something at random out of his coat, which turned out to be some kind of novelty swordfish… with an actual sword for a nose.

Dangerous for sure, but also _exactly_ what Scrooge wanted.

With a practiced parry, he used his cane to deflect the swordfish. It spun high, severing a light that hung from the ceiling… right above his opponent, who was forced to dive to avoid getting squashed. There was a loud _CRASH,_ and Scrooge pushed his offensive.

"Ah don't know what yer after," he declared, pointing his cane dramatically at Quackerjack. "But if you think some jumped up clown is going to get the better of Scrooge McDuck, you've got another thing coming!"

Quackerjack feigned an offended look. "I'm not a clown, I'm a jester! Big difference, Uncle Moneybags!"

"Makes no difference to me!"

"It should!" Quackerjack grinned, pointing behind him.

Scrooge turned, realizing his mistake. He had been so focused on Quackerjack and One-Shot that he had forgotten about their third member - and having never met Splatter Phoenix before, he was in for a rare treat. She had her paintbrush whipped out, and was coloring thin air into what looked like a python mixed with a rope. Working quickly, she had already churned out a dozen of them by the time Scrooge realized what was going on.

Then all of a sudden, the air was full of them. The next thing Scrooge knew, he was tied up and on the ground with the SHUSH agents, and Quackerjack was standing over him looking smug.

To add insult to injury, Quackerjack patted him on the head as if he were a child. "You're tough, old timer, but we're the best in the business!"

So satisfied, he turned to Splatter Phoenix. "Now see, if you had given them a jester theme, we would've caught them _and_ gotten a good punchline out of it."

Phoenix curled her lip at him. "And why would an artiste such as myself stoop to such philistine demands for lowbrow humor?"

"I don't understand the question." He said dismissively. " But not bad for our new brand's first public appearance, regardless!"

His enemies ensnared and the stage his once again, Quackerjack turned to the crowd – most of whom were trapped as well. His diabolical grin was twice as wide, his eyes dancing with devious excitement. "In case you're not the worldly sort and haven't guessed yet, we are the one and only Fearsome Five! Trademarked, patent pending, hashtag #NegaduckCanKissOurTailfeathers! Make sure to write that down." He said to the reporters. "And we're announcing our official debut by taking leave of a few things!"

"In a gherkin's eye!" Glomgold was straining to get his feet, even with rope-snakes pinning him to his chair. "No duck or beast alive can steal any of Flintheart Glomgold's justly earned cash!"

Scrooge had difficulty believing that any of Glomgold's money was "justly earned," but he appreciated the bit of resistance. Though the thought of appreciating anything Glomgold did made his skin crawl. The Five's attention was on him, which meant Scrooge could look for something they could use.

He scanned the room back and forth, but found nothing until his eyes once again fell onto the backstage. Launchpad's feline friend – likely the only SHUSH agent left standing – was creeping up holding some kind of hi-tech weapon. She hadn't entered the room yet – the crowd would probably give her stealth away the moment she did – but she seemed determined to make use of the opportunity. Luckily, Scrooge had an even better idea.

He wasn't entirely happy with what he was about to do, but it was a calculated risk. He didn't like SHUSH, but he kept up enough tabs with Launchpad to know that any SUSH agent he was associating with – especially nowadays – was one he and Darkwing's team could trust. Which for the moment would be good enough for him.

He still had the remote for the TeleConstructor. Many of its functions were automated, but if she could figure out a means of controlling it at the right moment, it could save the day – a long shot, but Scrooge was used to those.

Wiggling his head frantically, he tried to get her attention before she exposed herself without attracting the same from the supervillains. It took a moment, but she finally caught on that he was trying to tell her something and stopped her advance. It was a bit difficult with his hands bound, but he managed to work the remote out of his pocket. With a flick of his wrists, he tossed it into the air as far as he could.

Thankfully, Quackerjack and his team didn't notice the key to a multi-million dollar piece of technology whizzing past their heads. It landed right in front of the agent, who dove desperately for it. There was loud clatter as they collided… but when Quackerjack and his team turned to look, she was already gone without a trace.

Scrooge had to admit, those SHUSH agents _were_ good at their jobs. At least, the ones that didn't get themselves tied up (not that he had any room to talk). Hopefully, that skill would be an asset. They needed all the aces they could get at this point…

* * *

 _Meanwhile, on the other side of the room,_

From the primary hallway, Fenton and Julia Plumis peeked their heads out into the hall's main room, just enough to see what was going on.

"This really is the story of the year. Supervillains attack Scrooge McDuck, and I'm the only reporter able to get the inside scoop? I could get an award for this!"

"Provided you survive!" Fenton whispered, eyeing Quackerjack and "If you're not careful, you'll be getting that award _posthumously!"_

"I don't think sarcasm is your thing, Crackshell," Plumis huffed. "You want us to… what… sit out here and count the number of tiles on the floor?"

"274½, including the ceiling but not counting the ones in the next hall."

Plumis stared at him. "You were busy doing _that_ while a trio of supervillains were attacking your boss?"

"A quartet, actually. Don't forget Bushroot is out here somewhere. And it's a habit. Sue me. No wait, don't." He smiled sheepishly. "Mr. McDuck would never forgive me if I got involved in a lawsuit."

"You can't be serious."

"Look, all we have to do is do like Darkwing said and make a distraction so Gizmoduck can do his thing." The hall was long – even with buffet racks and tables all over the place, going in this way would get them spotted immediately. But… he saw that just behind the audience on either side there were side doors they could use, leading to the entrance and to the stage. If he could just sneak in and grab his briefcase…

"I've got it! You go that way," he said, pointing behind her, "slip into the main hall and stall – give 'em an interview, get your story, whatever you want! Meanwhile I'll go this way-" He pointed in the other direction. "-find Gizmoduck and direct him to take those miscreants out!"

Her eyes narrowed again. "That raises another question: if Gizmoduck is here, why hasn't he stopped them _already?"_

"Oh!" Darn reporters! "The idea was to have him wait down below and come up when we call him, so anyone out to steal the prototype doesn't know to plan for him. So I just have to go and, you know, give him the signal. See?"

It was a shaky explanation, but it was at least better than "I'm the hero you're looking for, but I accidentally forgot my supersuit exactly where the bad guys are," so Fenton figured any reception beyond outright rejection was a step up. Plumis took it with a bit of confused thought, but she at least seemed to be buying it.

"In that case, this might actually be a decent plan. But…" She paused. "Wait! What happened to 'provided you survive?' If I try to sneak up on them I'll end up a pile of ashes."

"You did the story on them before! They know you!" He replied, giving her a big cheesy smile he was sure was reassuring and not at all nervous. "It'll be great, and you'll be fine! Just keep 'em talking until Gizmoduck shows up."

"Well… I _do_ want to help…" She sighed deeply, mostly to brace herself. Resolutely, she rose to her and turned to the direction they agreed on. "A reporter must be brave and bold. I'll do it."

"That's the spirit!" Fenton pumped his fist, in rally to her bold bravery. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

"I'm going to regret this…" she groaned as she disappeared around the corridor. Fenton turned to fulfill his part of the plan – even if she didn't actually know what that part was.

"You're not the only one," he muttered once he was sure she was out of earshot. "Four villains! Oooh, I'm going to be aching for _weeks…_ "

* * *

 _Meanwhile, At McDuck Manor,_

The normally stately halls of Scrooge McDuck's home were, to put it lightly, a mess. Some of the most expensive furniture in the world laid smashed into pieces on the floor. Sturdy walls that had stood strong for decades had holes through them. Precious antiques were gone from their perches, thrown haphazardly into sacks and stuffed into a titanic pile in a corner. As far as total mayhem goes, reducing Duckburg's second-greatest building-shaped symbol of wealth and stability to ground zero of the world's most felonious hurricane in less than a half hour was a terrific achievement.

And the felons responsible were quite proud of themselves, too.

Cementhead stood in the foyer in the middle of all the chaos, wiping sawdust off of his hands and reveling in his handiwork.

"Yep. I'd say this qualifies as 'loud.' Wouldn't you, 'boss?'" He smirked, not needing to see his comrade to know his reaction.

Rowe walked into the room from the kitchen, where he had been sizing up the silverware. "I ain't your boss, mate." He said absently, not bothering to look up. He was more interested in counting their checklist off his fingers. "But yeah. Everything's going to plan. We definitely got the cops' attention, hopefully a few capes' too. They'll be here in a few minutes, tops, so we should be getting on our way."

"What about the loot?"

"We could take it, but that stuff'll be hard to fence." He said bluntly. "Our 'mystery employer's' bonus will probably serve us a lot better." He put a hand to his chin, thinking. "We _could_ just destroy the stuff. If we want to keep the cops distracted, that's definitely gonna make them mad." He paused. "But I say we just leave it. It's not important either way."

"You're the boss." Cinderblock shrugged. He turned away, staring off into space. "Shouldn't be long now, anywho."

"No, it shouldn't. So let's start putting distance between us and the manhunt, shall we?"

Rowe turned to the exit – either that, or planned to make one. What was one more broken wall, after all? After a moment, he realized that there weren't any plodding thuds following behind him. He turned back around just to be sure, and found that Cementhead hadn't moved at all. He was still standing there, staring into the distance.

"Hello? Cementhead?" He shouted. "You listening? Let's get outta here, mate!"

Still no response. Rowe growled, having no time for any kind of foolishness now. He stomped up to Cementhead's side and rapped his fist against his giant biceps.

"Don't tell me you really are as dense as a cinderblock, mate! Come on, we have to go!"

He was so close, that he didn't see his mistake until it was too late. All of a sudden, Cementhead's hand swing from his side straight at him. Before Rowe could react an enormous stone palm was wrapped all the way around his neck, and Cementhead was lifting him into the air, smiling evilly.

Rowe struggled in the grip, but he just wasn't strong enough to escape. "What're… you… doing, mate?" He managed to choke out.

An evil grin spread across Cementhead's face. "Like ya said, 'mate.' Everything's going according to plan…"

"I ain't… your… mate… either!" Rowe snarled.

"Ugh. Learn ta banter, ya twit." Cementhead scoffed. Swinging his hand back, he threw Rowe across the room. He slammed into a wall, creating yet another crack. "And you call yourself a supervillain."

Rowe's head was swimming. He didn't know up from down at the moment, but he did no this situation was going south. "W-what…" He slurred, rising to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse outside the window – and spotted something familiar, something _red_ , flying past on its way to the ceiling. "Pestilence. Whatever this is, it's gonna have to wait…"

"Ah, shaddup!" Cementhead yelled at him, but there was no anger there. Just pure, gloating malice. "Ta think, I had ta sit there and let you incompetents be in charge 'a this thing. What a crock, I'm tellin' ya."

Rowe gaped at him - he had to be kidding. "A double cross, mate? _Now?_ "

"Yes, 'now.'" Cementhead said. "You really didn't see this comin'? I mess you up, the cops pick you up, and by the time you get above water to breathe after all this mess, I've already got the gang back on track. A few months 'a me running things, and nobody will listen to ya. At least, nobody who's got the clout to do anything about it."

Not just a double cross, then. A very well planned out double cross. Luckily, it had a built-in way for Rowe to get out of it, if he could take advantage at just the right time. "You keep saying we're failing, but I think we're doing pretty well all things considered." Rowe said, trying to sound as defiant as possible. He had to keep him talking as much as possible - while behind his back, he hid a piece of wood from the wall. "Or have you not been paying attention?"

"Ya got one fiasco and and another not-even-finished job under yer belt. Kudos." Cementhead rolled his eyes. "But yer too green ta see the big picture. Ya wanna make this… what… supervillain social club, when yer in the position to take over the whole thing! You three could be the kings 'a St. Canard, I'm tellin' ya. But ye lack the real mastermind mindset, the kind that'll get ya the big power in the world."

This wasn't a boast. Rowe didn't doubt he _could_ take over St. Canard's underworld if he had the resources. That was the problem with hiring ex-bosses and using them primarily for muscle. Cementhead was right: they really _should_ have seen this coming.

"The three of us aren't going to be kings of anything!" Rowe replied. "Like we keep saying: me, Bushroot and Quackerjack are not you guys' bosses!"

"Careful, 'mate.' Say that long enough and ya might start ta believe it." Cementhead crossed his arms, a pitying look on his face. "But let me break it down for ya, since yer so naïve about it." He stepped forward and patted Rowe's head as if talking to a child. Rowe didn't bother taking a swipe at him – at least, not yet. "See, Bushroot's got the brilliant mind, but he doesn't have the conviction for this kind of leadership – he'd rather be on his own. You got the level head, but you lack direction – ya don't know _how_ to take charge on yer own. And Quackerjack? He's got the will and the drive for this business, but he's crazy and incoherent. Together, you're the driving force 'a this group whether ya know it or not."

Rowe just stared at him, his eyes narrowing. Cementhead took this rueful reaction as a sign to continue. "Alone, you guys would drift along as solo supervillains, content to be cogs in th' machine that is St. Canard. But somehow, all three of ya together makes you stronger than you would be apart. So if I wanna take over this outfit, something had ta change."

"Makes sense, if you're traitorous slime." Rowe admitted. "So then why me, mate?"

Cementhead slowly shook his head. "Tsk tsk. Still not doin' the math, kid! See, you and Bushroot might still possibly work for a while. Ye'd probably just dither off doing nothing important until the whole thing faded away, but ye'd last for a while – too long for my taste. And you and Quackerjack'd do the same, 'cept I figure that team-up'd be doomed to go out in a fiery explosion or something."

At this, he again shot forward and grapped the scruff of Rowe's neck. "But Bushroot an' Quackerjack? Those two are too fundamentally different to work together, even a little bit. They'll self destruct _way_ faster, and the whole group might fall apart because of it. But before that happens, let's say a new personality, a more forceful personality, might put their hand on the reins instead."

"Thrilling logic, mate." Rowe said quietly. Cementhead's rock ears couldn't hear it, but Rowe could just barely make out footsteps from the second floor – granted, that was because he knew to listen for them. It was time to move. "But first you have to get rid of me. "

" _You?_ You're delusional, anyone ever tell ya that?" Cementhead laughed. "What've _you_ got? Ya make fun of Beakley, but you ain't got a 'gimmick' either. What's your power, eh? I got the power, you got _nothing!"_

Cementhead squeezed his fist, watching Rowe flinch with glee. "All there is to ya is the fact that people don't mind working with ya. Ya'd do great on reality shows, 'mate.'" Rowe flinched as Cementhead stole his catchphrase yet again – which, as a bonus, let the traitor think he was getting to him. "Yer in the clutches of someone literally ten times stronger than you at best, and what do ya think ya can do about it?"

Suddenly, Rowe grinned directly into Cementhead's face. "Something you don't expect, of course!" Lightning fast, he pulled the piece of wood from behind his back and stuffed it down Cementhead's throat. It wasn't enough to make him choke, but it _was_ enough to surprise him into dropping what he was holding – namely, Rowe himself.

Before Cementhead could recover, Rowe spun him around and kicked him right in the bend of his knee. He winced as muscle met a living wall – he could _feel_ his foot fracturing in real time – but force in the right place was still force no matter what delivered it. Cementhead might not have been hurt, but he did buckle to the ground.

"You fuzzy little rat!" Cementhead shouted. He jumped to his feet, coughing, and whipped around to grab Rowe again… only to find that the otter was gone without a trace. He looked about the room, but there was no sign of him.

"Tryin' ta give me the slip? I'll find ya!" He hissed under his breath, his temper rising horribly. His next words were considerably less quiet. "I'LL TEAR THIS WHOLE PLACE DOWN IF I HAVE TA!"

"Yeah, we're not going to let you do that."

Cementhead gasped. He slowly turned around, fists clenching in irritation. There, standing on the upstairs staircase, were the Crimson Avenger and Techno – having slipped in from the upper levels. In his gloats and rages, he hadn't noticed their approach. But he had a sneaking suspicion that Rowe _did_ – and now the intended tables had turned.

"Ah, crud." He growled. "Using my own con against me. Shoulda seen that comin'"

"I sense we walked into something important," Crimson said, smirking. "Mind telling us who you're here with, Cementhead?"

In this time, Rowe had already made it outside. He peeked back in, hiding behind one of the windows, needing to know what happened next. If Crimson and his sidekick found out he was not only here, but had only just slipped away nursing a few injuries to boot, he was done for.

Cementhead had stopped: he was thinking about it. But Rowe hoped he knew Cementead as well he thought. Being known as a blabbermouth would sour his long term plans completely, but the urge for revenge might still make him do it.

"Tell ya what..." Cementhead said slowly. "I'll tell you all about it." Rowe's eyes widened. "It'll be MY EULOGY AT YER FUNERALS!" Without warning, he ripped a large part of the floor out from below himself and hurtled it at Crimson. She dodged, of course, and the fight was on.

Rowe sighed in relief and took off. The capes would take care of this: Cementhead own hotheaded scheming was about to do him in, even if he didn't know it, and there was no reason for Rowe to stick around to get caught too.

Meanwhile, Cementhead had a much better take on his chances, though that may have been the adrenaline talking. He had never fought the next generation of heroes before. And already they were running rings around him.

"I don't think he's going to talk," Techno said to Crimson, buzzing by his ear with his rocket boots.

"Shame," Crimson replied playfully. She was right behind him, but when he turned to nab her she was slid between his legs. "These things would go a lot faster if _some_ people were willing to talk it out more."

"Less of a workout, though." Techno said, acting as if mortal combat really was good exercise advice. Now he was circling around Cementhead's midsection, distracting him whenever the giant got a good bead on Crimson.

"True. Beating crooks does beat jogging any day."

"You think _he_ agrees with that?" Techno pushed his thumb in Cementhead's direction. In unison, the two heroes sped towards him – a daring move, one the villain planned to counter with a big hit – then at the last second they dipped away in opposite directions, causing him to nearly trip over his own feet.

Cementhead groaned, rolling his eyes. So far, the two were avoiding direct attack, preferring to act like gnats while seemingly ignoring him completely. But he was wise to their game. He threw his arms out, forcing both heroes to dodge at the same time.

"Oh, can it already! I know what you two are tryin' ta do. You wanna get my goat up so I'll make a mistake. Funny. But Cementhead doesn't get fooled twice!"

Ducking his hit, Crimson rolled into a ready stance – a smirk on her face. "Wanna bet?" She shot back, pointing down at Cementhead's chest.

He could've kicked himself. While he was busy trying to smash them, the two hadn't just been zipping around. They had been tagging him – all over his body, there were small black spheres stuck to him.

"What the heck are these?" He roared, trying to tear them off.

"I call them Grappling Pods," Techno explained. "This is my first time testing them out in the field, so let me know how they works out."

He pressed a button on his arm, and at once the all of the pod split in half and shot out a length of rope with the other half attached to it. Each rope attached to part of the room – the walls, the ceilings, the floor – over a dozen in all.

Cementhead soon looked like the fly in the center of a giant spiderweb. He thrashed around trying to extricate himself, but Techno was one step ahead. He pressed another button, and this time each of the ropes _retracted_ – while stuck to each of their perches. Cementhead was hoisted into the air and left suspended in the middle of the room -.

Crimson walked under him, admiring her catch like a fisherman who netted a particularly big shark. "Lucky you, Cementhead, you got to be a guinea pig." She said proudly. "On top of being a regular pig, of course. Feeling okay up there?"

"Let me outta this, you!" Cementhead snarled.

She scoffed. "Yeah, we'll get right on that."

Turning her back on their penned pig – Techno could take care of this for a few moments without her – Crimson turned on her communicator for the first time since her meeting with Beakley. Darkwing's face appeared on the other end. He looked anxious, like he was in the middle of something serious, but he still took the call right away.

"Darkwing," She said curtly. "We're at McDuck Manor… or what's left of it."

" _Oh, right. The communicators,"_ Darkwing replied. _"In the heat of the moment I forgot about them. I guess Gizmo's probably wouldn't work…"_

Crimson raised an eyebrow. Clearly that was going to need an explanation, but her current status report came first. "Right… anyway, we caught Cementhead making a mess of things here. He probably had an accomplice but…"

"I ain't sayin' nothin'!" Cementhead roared, beginning his thrashings anew. Techno was fluttering back and forth, making sure pods weren't malfunctioning under all the pressure. "Especially not to a pair 'a ankle biters! You're just second rate, anyone ever tell ya that? LET ME GO!"

"… I'm thinking he's going to be a dead end." She finished with a sigh, while in the background Techno tried to explain just how painful it would be to go slamming through one of the walls should the pods come. "How are things on your end?"

"… _isn't_ _ **that**_ _a heck of a question?"_ There was an aggravated groan in Darkwing's voice that Crimson really didn't like. _"Good job catching Cementhead, but there's more._ _ **Lots**_ _more. Brace yourself…"_

* * *

 _Back at the Conference Hall,_

No matter how many times he did it over the years, going through these tense situations without his suit never failed to make Fenton's blood pressure skyrocket. It's a sad fact in living a dangerous life with a suit of armor that you become acutely aware of how fragile and breakable you are without it.

But there was no getting around it – there never seemed to be. And over the years, he had also learned out to grin and power through it. He would just get it down now, and kick himself over his mistake in leaving the suitcase unattended later. Provided Scrooge McDuck didn't deliver the kick himself.

Luckily, the bad guys all seemed occupied with their own conversation. From behind a crack in the side door closest to where he left the suitcase, he could spy them around the TeleConstructor, talking amongst themselves. Arguing, more like, but then who was he to chide

They weren't looking at him now, but he couldn't guarantee that this would give him the privacy he needed the whole time. They may have had the audience's full attention, but the villains themselves were another story – that's what Plumis' distraction was going to be for.

"How do we get this thing out of here?" One-Shot was moaning. He kicked the TeleConstructor with his heel, prompting a protest from Scrooge. "It's too heavy to carry _and_ keep safe at the same time."

So they really were after the TeleConstructor. Fenton mulled over this new information. He obviously had to keep the prototype safe, but he had a roomful of hostages to rescue – including his boss, the most influential Duck in the world – three supervillains to take care of, plus another in the wings somewhere.

This was clearly going to be one of those days.

"I thought flinging unlikely projectiles was your forte," Splatter Phoenix said, responding to One-Shot. "Isn't that what made you the king of that prime time gladiatorial dreck that dominates every weeknight?"

"What?"

"She says you could throw it." Quackerjack said absently. He was also inspecting the TeleConstructor, but more intently. Fenton had forgotten that the jester was smarter than he looked. "Also, she insulted professional baseball."

One-Shot stomped up to Splatter Phoenix, fuming. "Hey! That only works for stuff in my coat, I'll have you know! Otherwise I'd throw _you,_ Mona Lisa!"

She only rolled her eyes, looking as if continuing this conversation was causing her actual pain. "Mona Lisa was the painting, not the artiste, you philistine."

"Yer all philistines!" Scrooge ranted from the far wall, where he was tied up. "Uncultured, greedy crooks!"

The crooks in question ignored him, but Quackerjack did take that moment to interject. "I can't help but think this isn't helping up move the flying saucer," he pointed out, though he made little effort to actually stop the fight.

"But you… er… have to admit," came a sudden addition. "It's makes great flavor text."

The villains all turned around to the source of this new voice, the complete opposite direction from where Fenton was hiding. Perfect! He was wondering when Plumis would make her move. Then again, he understood a thing about having to get one's nerve up.

"Hi, there!" She walked into the room with a forced casual air. Barring a few missteps here and there, she spoke with complete confidence. Fenton had to admit, she was a darn good reporter.

"One of 'em escaped!" One-Shot shouted – looking excited, against all odds. He was already reaching into his coat. "She's up to something!"

Plumis waved him off. "I was in the bathroom!" she said. She bowed slightly, looking at Quackerjack. "Julia Plumis, **_News On The Wing_** **.** Remember me?"

A maniacal grin spread between's Quackerjack ears, and he advanced on her with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes. He threw out his hand, stopping One-Shot from opening fire. "Ah, Miss Plumis! How could I forget? Ever get those chattering teeth out of your hair?"

Plumis stood her ground – unfortunately, she needed to stay here if this distraction was going to work, and Fenton gave her kudos for it. "W-well, I had to switch hairstylists and go short for a while," she said with disgust. "But yes."

"Aw… that's too bad…" Quackerjack said, pretending to pout. "Here, let me try again!" He reached into his hat, fishing for something in a way Fenton did not like.

"Look out!" Scrooge shouted, and Plumis took a step back as Quackerjack pulled out a set of already wound up teeth ("Hey!" One-Shot said on the side, "I wanted to do that!"). This time, a set with far too many of razor sharp fangs.

Plumis threw her hand out, looking panicked for the first time. "Wait!" She shouted, before calming herself down. "You three are undertaking the most daring crime Duckburg's seen since Blackheart Beagle united the town's entire criminal element. You're making a statement to the world! Don't you want to… um… share your side of it? You know, for posterity?"

This did, against all odds, cause Quackerjack to stop. Which Fenton supposed made sense – the mad jester always was an incorrigible ham.

The thought about this themselves for a moment, then went into a huddle. Which was the perfect opportunity for Fenton to slip into the room.

"Good job, Miss Plumis." Fenton whispered, quietly willing the ruse to keep working. "And with the story of the year, no less!"

Inching behind the audience, Fenton made his way to the table he and Darkwing had been talking near earlier. He had slipped the suitcase under there for safe keeping, having been tired of carrying it around – somehow, his little mistakes always seem to explode into big ones. Hopefully it was still secure.

He could hear the villains continue to talk, oblivious like everyone else to his sneakiness. In a less tense situation, he would've been proud of his ninja skills. Even Plumis, who might have had a view of him if she were to look close, was too busy watching the criminals for any sudden moves to see him.

Although… out of the corner of his eye, he thought he might have seen Mr. McDuck glance in his direction. Though that was hardly surprising, if true. As far as Fenton was concerned, Scrooge was the sharpest person there by far.

"The news _would_ be a perfect venue to share my philosophical and artistic insight with the otherwise uncultivated…" Phoenix was saying. She pretended to vomit – or perhaps she really _was_ about to vomit. Fenton couldn't tell, but her disgust at the masses did seem rather defining. "… ugh… _television_ audience."

"What?"

Quackerjack snickered to himself. "She says it'll give her a chance to show off."

Phoenix curled her lip in Quackerjack's direction, but didn't dignify his comment with a response. One-Shot, meanwhile, looked a bit put out – no doubt because he wouldn't get a chance to throw something.

"Well…" Quackerjack continued. "Who am I to resist a good exclusive?"

The reporters in the crowd all protested the scoop going on right in front on their noses, but that only served to make Quackerjack more interested. He turned to leer at them, which Fenton realized to his shock would put him in clear view.

He darted under the table, hoping he hadn't been spotted – but luckily, at that exact moment Scrooge caught their attention with another barb. Perhaps he _did_ know what Fenton was up to after all!

"Who'd want to read the ramblings of a bubbleheaded clown?" He said loudly. The villains turned to look at him just as Fenton slipped out of sight.

He didn't hear if Quackerjack responded, as he was busy trying to get himself settled. Tables aren't meant for squatting, and it was quite cramped under there. On the plus side, his suitcase _was_ still there after all!

All he had to was get out of here and get the suit on before this _really_ went pear shaped.

"Golly," Fenton whispered to himself. "I really ought to start handcuffing this thing to my wrist!"

Outside, the Five had apparently fallen completely for the "exclusive interview" con. "It's settled then!" Quackerjack was saying. "Where to start…"

Scrooge could be heard continuing to rant – no doubt trying to buy Fenton that much more time. "How about jail cell preferences, ye scoundrel!"

Fenton heard a soft "oof," and realized to his shock shock that the villains must have finally done something about his boss' interruptions. It was time to move, no matter what.

He chanced a look: all the villains, plus the audience, were back to looking at Plumis – who was hiding her nervousness well. Scrooge was no worse for the wear, but has sporting some kind of makeshift muzzle – probably one of Phoenix's creations, given how it looked like a mismatch between a gag and a banana peel.

This was his opportunity! He scanned the room – everyone looked petrified, except Scrooge, Glomgold (though he doubted anything scared those two grizzled old adventurers), and Launchpad. He didn't like leaving them even for a second, but putting the suit on here – even under a table - would lose him the element of surprise, not to mention jeopardize his secret identity.

He silently promised to be back and save them all soon, then zipped out from under the table while no one was looking and made a bee line for the door. As he left, he heard Quackerjack continuing to ham it up.

"I was born in a log cabin on the St. Canard skyline seventy five years ago…"

Quackerjack didn't stop his story, nor were there any sounds of surprise or cries of "get him!", which Fenton took to mean he made a clean getaway. Still, he decided to put as much distance between himself and the situation as possible before making his move.

He ran through the halls, desperately looking out for a good place to change. He dared not get too close to the outer walls, lest Bushroot's plants on the other side sense him somehow. But there weren't any nooks and crannies he could use to either.

"Aren't there any convenient closets around here?" He grumbled to himself. "I'll have to have a talk with this place's architect!"

For a moment, he even thought about actually going down to the basement like he told Plumis, but he didn't like the idea of leaving those people along with the villains any longer than he strictly had to.

But what other options did he have? It wasn't like he could just change right here…. was it?

He looked up to the corners where the conference hall's security cameras were positioned – one in each major hallway, with no blind spots whatsoever. Usually they would be major obstacles, what with the threat to his secret identity, but they were all limp and inactive.

The villains had to have disabled them while sneaking in. A smart move – but their trick was about to give _him_ a lot more help than they ever imagined.

He grinned. Finally, a break. As Quackerjack had said, it was all settled now!

"Blathering Blatherskite!"

* * *

 _At Scrooge McDuck's Money Bin,_

Darkwing was just finishing up the story as they approached the entrance to the Bin.

"… so the whole building is now one big head of cabbage, and I'm heading to check on McDuck's money just in case."

" _That's bad. Practically all the cops in the city are headed here!"_ Crimson responded.

"I know," he sighed.

" _The Five are really going for their 'Criminal Ambition' merit badges today, huh?"_ She said, mirroring his weary look. _"Do you need any help?"_

Darkwing felt the same spark of pride that came every time his daughter showed she had his back, but in this case it didn't seem necessary to indulge. "No. Stay where you are for now, keep an eye on Cementhead and try to get a clue to what their true, nefarious scheme is. Last thing we need is for them to make us look one way while making things worse the other."

" _I understand. We'll be here. Call if you want to regroup. Crimson out."_

The communicator shut off, and Darkwing was left to his own thoughts. The triplets were waiting just inside the building while he took care of his call – it was just him in the imposing sight of Duckburg's biggest landmark out here.

The half-office, half-vault didn't look any worse for the wear – the Five had otherwise been less than subtle so far – but the lights were off and in the night sky it gave off a somewhat spooky vibe. Skeptical though he was, it was a sight that put him on edge. Not to mention that despite being closed for the day, but someone had left the door open for them – which, he had to admit, lent itself to the boys' theory.

But the time for speculation was over – now came investigation. He returned to the entrance, finding the boys resting against a wall somehow looking both bored and anxious at the same time.

He would never understand how teenagers were able to do that.

"Dare I ask if you boys doing okay?" He said as he approached.

Huey waved him off. "Please, we made this hike every day for years. I've _sprinted_ to the Bin and back before."

"Who knew Uncle Scrooge's unwillingness to pay for things like cabs would be good for our health?" Dewey noted.

Louie laughed. "Well, the guy _is_ like three hundred years old. He must be doing _something_ right."

Darkwing put his hand up, and the boys all fell silent.

"If we're quite finished bantering," he said, gesturing further into the building. "Let's check this place out. You did say you had a hunch, didn't you?"

Huey turned away, scoffing, but he was the first to hop off the wall and start moving. "I also recall you saying you didn't believe us," he said, sneering.

"I said it's _unlikely_." Darkwing corrected, a hard edge creeping to his voice. "But today, I'm willing to believe anything." He slipped around Huey and took the lead, earning him another scoff. "Where's the entrance to the vault?"

"Upstairs, in Uncle Scrooge's office," said Louie.

Darkwing nodded. "Right, then first we should-"

He was interrupted by a loud * _TOMM*_ from above, followed by a series of the same sound one after the other. The rhythm made it sound like footsteps, but not from any duck any of them had ever heard.

"-get low, and stay quiet!" Darkwing finished, his voice dropping down to a whisper. He inched around to the staircase and started to climb, making sure not to step too loudly. "Follow me…"

"Did you hear that?" Louie whispered frantically – and a bit too noisily. "Who's up there?"

Both of his brothers and Darkwing turned and hissed at him to stay quiet, but the deed was done. They froze and pinned themselves against the stair wall. A long, tense moment passed with no sound at all, not even from above. Not daring to move a muscle, they looked to the top of the stairs – waiting for someone to make a move.

Finally, there came movement from above. A green skinned, wild haired duck appeared on the uppermost landing. She looked around the staircase suspiciously, but didn't spot the group. They pressed even closer to the wall, just in case.

"Hmph. I thought I heard sssomething," she said, her voice raspy and hissing.

At her back, an even stranger sight appeared. It was an orage metal duck, eight feet tall at least, with a barrel chest and huge, plodding feet. Clearly this was the thing making the loud footsteps. "JUST. YOUR. ORGANIC. IMAGINATION," he said, walking back inside without a second glance.

Camille continued to inspect the room, not content with giving up so quickly. But eventually even she shrugged and walked away, disappearing with a last "ssso it ssseems…"

The group stayed frozen for a minute, just in case either of them decided to come back. When it seemed that the coast was clear, Darkwing started leading them up the stairs again – now jumping to twice the pace as before. The triplets had to struggle a bit to keep up without making noise.

"That was Camille, the Chameleon!" Darkwing said, almost to himself. He was newly tense, as he tried to study all the angles – with no less than three attacks going on at the same time, who could blame him? "So much for the Five leaving this place alone. But who's that bucket of bolts she's with?"

Meanwhile, the boys were sharing frantic looks behind him. "That… it can't be!" Dewey gasped. "It's Armstrong!"

Darkwing turned to him with an inquisitive look. The other two triplets nodded frantically, confirming Dewey's fearful reply. Even Huey looked more scared than standoffish.

"It's a robot Gyro Gearloose once made for Uncle Scrooge." Dewey explained. "He went nuts and tried to take over the world."

"But what's he doing here?" Huey added. "We destroyed him years ago!"

"If so, then clearly the scrap heap didn't sit well with him." Darkwing quipped. As they reached the landing, he pulled them to the side of the office door so that they were fully out of sight. "Now shush! They don't know we're here yet."

He leaned in, trying to hear what was going on inside –which was a little hard with three temporary sidekicks (or at least, that's how he was starting to think of them) leaning up against him at the same time. It did give him a strange sense of déjà vu, though. As though somewhere else in Duckburg, someone else was going through a very similar experience.

But he shrugged it off. How many people sneaking around spying on villains could there be in one town?

Camille and Armstrong were pacing around the floor, talking amongst themselves. Scrooge's office was on the far end of the office – and inside, the biggest payday any thief could imagine. But instead of going for it, they were futzing about.

To be precise, Armstrong seemed to be looking at the various workstations of Scrooge's secretaries and assistants, while Camille followed behind him making sharp comments.

She started talking – sounding like it was far from their first conversation - as the android stooped over a computer close to Scrooge's door. "Care to ssspill what we're doing here?"

" _YOU._ ARE. NOT. SUPPOSED. TO. BE. HERE." Armstrong droned without looking back. A plug ran from his head to the computer, which was flashing different files at an extreme rate.

"That'sss true." Camille said flatly. "The plan wasss for _both_ of usss to ssstay back in cassse they needed backup, if I remember right. And yet here we are, in the middle of Ssscrooge's headquartersss. Ssstrange."

"I. HAVE. MY. OWN. OBJECTIVES."

"A ha! We _knew_ that mysssterious phony had hisss own agenda when he sssent you!"

"PERCEPTIVE." Armstrong grunted, sounding quite sarcastic for an emotionless robot. "AND. YET. HERE. I. AM. UNABATED."

"I'm curiousss! Thisss isss the mossst interesssting thing I'll get to do all day!" Camille said, only half-joking. She was smirking, but the severe look in her eye made it clear she was close to treating this like a double cross.

"LUCKY. ME…" Armstrong didn't bother looking back to see her expression, but he picked up on her mood full well regardless. "IF. IT'S. ANY. CONSOLATION… MY. SUCCESS. ENSURES. A. BONUS. FOR. ALL. OF. YOU."

"Ssso we're decoysss, isss it?" She mused, delaying a bit as she thought about it. Armstrong did not wait for her to follow. By the time she looked up, he was quite a distance away and she had to hurry to catch up. "Fine! If the money'sss really worth it, we'll sssee. But I've got my eyesss on you!"

"AMUSING…"

He continued to pore over the computer, but apparently didn't find what he was looking for. With methodical efficiently, he unplugged himself, cut off the console and went to the next desk to start over again.

Camille groaned impatiently. Armstrong ignored her, which only got her more irritated. "The vault isss right through there!" She hissed. "Why don't we jussst open the door?"

Armstrong rolled his glass eyes. "WE. CANNOT. TRIGGER. AN. ALARM…" He explained. "ONE. OF. SCROOGE'S. ASSISTANTS. HAS. A. MASTER. KEY… WHO. HAS. IT. CHANGES. EVERY. DAY… BUT…"

Finally, he hit paydirt. With a loud *KLIK*, the door to Scrooge's office unlocked and the security system deactivated. Casually, Armstrong strode over to the door and threw it open.

"How did he know that?" Darkwing asked, still at their vantage point on the landing.

"Uncle Scrooge meant for Armstrong to handle… well… everything!" Louie said. "He knows a heck of a lot about how the company is run."

Darkwing frowned. "It goes without saying that that's bad." He grunted. "We need to get closer. Come on…" He gestured for them to again follow behind him.

"…but do it _quietly_ this time."

The others all glared at Louie, who at least had the decently to blush…

* * *

 _Back At The Convention Hall,_

Fenton – now suited up as Gizmoduck – decided to make his grand re-entrance through the backstage. The villains were at the front of the stage, so the only people who would see him come from the side were hostages who he hoped would _probably_ not blow this for him.

At least, he hoped so. He didn't always have the best luck.

As he returned, he took a quick survey of the situation. Scrooge and Launchpad were tied up in the center of the stage, still trying to get out of their bonds on their own without being spotted. He couldn't get to them without alerting the villains, so the moment for that would have to be picked just right.

The hall staff were also tied up and discarded all over the place. He hated to do so, but they would have to wait to be freed until afterwards.

Still, it was rather impressive that the villains had gotten all of this done in such a short time. If only such industriousness could be used for good. Fenton wondered if maybe he ought to meet the Negaverse's Friendly Four one of these days. Then again, was there a NegaGizmoduck out there too to watch out for?

Food for thought, to be eaten later perhaps. For now, it was time to do what a superpowered superhero does best.

In the time between his then and his departure the villains had moved the backboard Scrooge brought onstage behind Plumis and trussed it up into a dartboard, so One-Shot could amuse himself by _just_ missing the reporter while Quackerjack gabbed away. The chalkboard was a pincushion of knives, needles, thumbtacks and raw fish. Plumis looked like she was about to have a panic attack.

Quackerjack, meanwhile, was clearly having fun. He had gotten the whole audience involved with his story, and there were bits of pie, wind up toys and explosive ash littered all over those poor people – making the scene look like something right out of a cartoon.

To think, Gizmoduck in an animated program! In fact… Fenton decided to _also_ file that thought for later. McDuck Entertainment's tv people might be interested in hearing it.

Speaking of highly animated people, on the side Phoenix - despite all the talk about her "philosophical insight" – had apparently lost interest in the conversation and had instead taken the TeleConstructor schematics off of the board. She was passing the time looking the blueprints over and making snide and overblown artistic criticisms.

A hulking brute with no face and way too many hands – no doubt one of her creation – was lifting the TeleConstructor onto his shoulders, effectively solving their transport problem for the time being.

None of them seemed the least bit worried about how to get the TeleConstructor out of the city, even if they could safely move it. And there was no sign of Bushroot, but then Gizmoduck didn't expect there to be. He had a few ideas about how those two oddities were connected, but that could wait until later. It was time to break up this party.

Back on the stage, Quackerjack was wrapping up his story. Literally, from the looks of the can of extra-strength Silly String he was pulling out of his sleeve.

"And that's concludes part twelve of my treatise on why Whiffle Boy is a plague upon all humankind, and some animals," he said, casually spraying the can into his palm. A length of rope around the one would need to tie up a fully grown duck materialized into his grip.

Plumis nervously eyed the can of string, and finally picked now to back away. "T-thank you. I think that's all I need."

"Oh, but there's still the hands on part of our interview!" He said, leering evilly. He lifted the rope over his head, ready to throw it over his latest hostage. "I like to let _everyone_ get in one the game…"

Gizmoduck knew a cue when he saw one. "Ooh! Can I play!" He shouted swooping through the air magnificently and coming down between right inbetween his criminal targets.

"Gizmoduck!" Everyone but Scrooge jumped back in surprise. The old millionaire had – of course – seen this coming, and instead kept to himself working on getting free.

The villains, on the other hand, leapt into action. Three dangerous felons and a hulking brute made of paint circled the hero, weapons drawn and hateful intentions on the brain – and Gizmoduck, of course, challenged them all without hesitation.

"Wrongdoers, you stand before the might of _GIIIIZMODUCK:_ Protector of Justice in all its forms! And _I_ have a declaration of my own! Surrender, or you'll have much less to talk about."

"He's supposed to be at McDuck Manor!" One-Shot muttered to Quackerjack, who merely frowned. He was intending to be secretive, but his voice carried a bit too much. Gizmoduck heard him loud and clear.

"And what, pray tell, is happening at McDuck Manor?"

Now glaring at One-Shot entirely, Quackerjack covered the mistake with a smile and his usual malevolent cheer. "Hmm… am I in the mood to play this game?" His voice was a parody of prim propriety – probably directed at Gizmoduck himself. "On the one hand, the criminal genius in me says this is probably a bad thing. On the other hand…"

Gizmoduck, not to be fooled, squared off. "Here is comes…" He said to himself.

And true to form, Quackerjack suddenly pulled a small jack-in-the-box out of his pocket. "…IT'S PLAYTIME!"

Quackerjack threw the jack-in-the-box, but Gizmoduck was well ahead of him. He dived clear, and the toy burst open with no one to experience it. A small puppet popped out, wielding an impossibly large axe - which it swung around harmlessly.

Just to ensure it wouldn't be a problem later, Gizmoduck tagged the box with a small shot of foam, and the puppet fell to the floor harmlessly. He rounded on Quackerjack again, as if the interruption hadn't even happened.

"I'm not impressed. We've faced off before, Quackerjack. I didn't go so well for you then, either!"

"Hoo hoo!" Quackerjack hollered, not a dent made in his mood. "Well, luckily _this_ time I brought a few new games!" He turned to his cohorts. "One-Shot, how about we and the tin man here play catch?"

One-Shot looked like a child who had just been handed the keys to a rocketship. "Oh, yeah!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, his arms already digging into his coat. Clearly, he had been waiting for this all day. Gizmoduck caught sight of something small and round that looked vaguely like a bomb, and it paid to be safer rather than sorrier when playing with explosives.

He swerved away from where One-Shot was aiming, but only served to land himself into another trap. A sudden stall in his wheel forced him to stop, and he looked down to find his bottom half encased in some kind of chain – a multitude of tiny opera gloves, to be precise, linked together finger into finger.

Such a grotesque sight could only be the work of Splatter Phoenix. It even worked as a companion piece to her creature with a dozen hands, who was now bearing down upon him.

"Gadzooks!" Gizmoduck gasped. A panel in his chest opened up, and a boxing glove flew from the hole – catching the handsy brute in the chest. It was launched across the stage and landed some distance away, injured but not discouraged. An outraged cry of "philistine!" from Phoenix could be heard echoing through the air, but Gizmoduck was in no mood to pay attention to it.

The projectile from One-Shot he had avoided did explode, but not into fireworks. Like spikey confetti, needles were sent sailing through the air. He had done well to dodge the first time, but shot number two was already on its way – this one was more thin and narrow, glinting with its sharp metal edge.

"Got ya!" One-Shot grinned triumphantly. And it would have been a good time to celebrate, given that Gizmoduck could barely move thanks to Phoenix. But he was _Gizmoduck._ He wasn't about to be done in seconds into a battle – it simply wasn't done.

He may not have been able to move his wheel at the moment, but he could lean. He bent away from the attack at the just the right angle, allowing his foes to do the work of freeing him themselves.

The chain was cut harmlessly away, allowing him free motion again. As it passed, he took a closer look at One-Shot's projectile. He almost dismissed it as any other deadly weapon, for it wasn't until after he leapt free of the trap that he realized what its distinctive V-shape meant.

"Wait… boomerang!" He ducked a second time, just in time for the boomerang to zoom past his head again from behind. One-Shot didn't bother catching it – he was already reaching for another weapon – and so instead it hit the far wall, near the hostages, and cracked into pieces.

Gizmoduck tried to press the moment – taking aim at One-Shot and readying his lasso-cannon (never go to the rodeo fair without it) for an ensnaring of his own. But from the corner of his eye he saw movement about him, and jumped back – once again just in time to avoid danger, as Quackerjack plowed through with a truly demonic looking pogo stick. It was more like the unholy fusion of a child's toy, a jackhammer and a freshly sharpened sword.

Gizmoduck had to wonder where villains got these deranged ideas from…

"Hoo hoo!" The maniacal jester laughed, bouncing hither and yon with reckless abandon. "The best part about having an artist for a pal, is you can always make requests!"

Well, that answered _that_ question: it was all Phoenix' fault. "This game is getting crowded, Quackerjack!" Gizmoduck protested. "Careful you don't squash your own cohorts!"

"What's the matter, gadgethead?" Quackerjack said with glee. "Haven't you ever heard of 'the more, the merrier?' I'd be more worried about _your_ health than _these guys'!_ "

On cue, an entire dresser drawer – another of One-Shot's party favors – flew straight at him. There was no time to dodge, so Gizmoduck was forced to knock it aside (a shame – it was hand carved mahogany). The impact may have made a small dent in his armor, but at least it didn't slow him down.

"So it's that kind of game, eh?" He replied, pointing a finger at Quackerjack with a clear challenge. "If that's the case, I may need some teammates of by very own!"

Realizing where Gizmoduck's train of thought was heading, Quackerjack glanced back at Scrooge and Launchpad. He scowled. "Don't you try it! This is for one player only!" He turned to his walking artillery. "One-Shot! Fall back and make sure he doesn't tag anyone in!"

One-Shot complied, moving to position next to the hostages. But he was not as aware as he should have been – otherwise, the handheld marksman might have noticed someone unexpected sneaking about. Instead, as he backed up he bumped directly into something – some _one_ _–_ solid. He turned about, hand already in his coat, to find a cat in a formal dress waving coldly at him.

A second later, he was on the floor nursing a punch in the jaw.

This interruption made everyone stop short – especially One-Shot, who stopped just short of unconsciousness. The two remaining non-punched supervillains were now on high alert.

Even Gizmoduck was surprised. He hadn't expected anyone else to have gotten away from the villains' initial attack, besides those who were already out of the room (which reminded him, he still had a decoy to save). But he did recognize her – it was Launchpad's friend, and with a lockpick in hand he could guess what her plan had been before One-Shot's clumsiness ruined all of her hard work sneaking about.

But Gizmoduck was nothing if not flexible – how could he not be, after years of dealing with his and Mr. McDuck's misadventures - and he suspected one didn't get to be a SHUSH agent without the same skill.

So he decided to use this to his advantage. The moment Agent Mia took the villains' attention, he was in motion.

Meanwhile, Mia – who could see everything Gizmoduck was doing – caught onto the plan just as he had hoped. She pulled a gun from her inside her dress and pointed it at One-Shot, both to prevent him from getting up and taking a shot at her, and to keep the villains attention strictly on her for the time being.

It worked like a charm. "Hey… I think I know you!" Quackerjack said, pointing accusingly. "You're from SHUSH! Sneaking around, are you?"

Mia scoffed. "Congratulations, you're all caught up with current events."

"Hoo hoo!" Quackerjack laughed. "Here's an 'event for ya! 'Hotshot Spy Makes Her Last"

"Enough of this puerile persiflage!" Phoenix hissed. She ordered her brute to attack, and it charged straight at Mia with a dozen hands ready to rend her apart. It was far too slow to catch, her, but it was more than dangerous enough to keep her on her toes.

She slid under the creature's leg and kicked at its massive knee, stunning it for a moment. But in doing so, she was forced to take her eyes off of One-Shot, who scrambled back to Quackerjack's side.

"W-what…?" One-Shot said groggily, glancing at Phoenix.

"She said enough talk!" Came the response. Quackerjack was eyeing the fight between Phoenix and Mia, gauging how to react. "And… I agree! While those three play tag, why don't we take care of…" Quackerjack turned One-Shot back to where they left their mechanical foe, only to find Gizmoduck was nowhere to be seen. "Hey! That's not fair!"

One-Shot gasped. "Where'd the tin can go!" He and Quackerjack stared blankly for a moment, as it slowly dawned on them that their enemy wasn't the only thing missing. "Wait… where'd the _audience_ go?!"

The truth was, the audience had been filing out since the moment Gizmoduck first hit the scene without any of them noticing, but he had helped the evacuation along a bit in his brief moment. First he zipped over to Plumis, who was still rooted to the same spot, watching the fight with the interviewer's smile still frozen to her face. No use having a civilian in the mix to worry about, let alone one who had already helped far past the point of mental health.

"Thank you for your help, Madame Reporter!" He said. She didn't respond. "Thanks to you and Crackshell, I was able to help me get the drop on these hooligans! You'll sure get the Pouletzer Prize for this!"

"Mmmnuh…" His passenger breathed by way of response, staring wide-eyed into space and breathing heavily. Oh yes, that smile was _definitely_ frozen to her face. He – as Fenton – should probably send her a nice "thank you" postcard when this was over.

But for now, it was time for Gizmoduck's signature reassuring humor, sure to lift her spirits. "That is a wonderful voice you have there, rookie. Treat it well, and it could grow to become a real smash!" He dropped her off into the crowd of billionaires, politicians and other reporters, most of whom were already using the fight as an opening to get out of there. It took her a moment to snap out of it, but she eventually joined them – though it didn't look like she would be snapping out of shock any time soon.

In any case, it was one less variable to worry about right now. They would likely head into the other room and find their way out barred by giant plants, but they would at least be away from the fight. Which meant he had a lot more attention to focus on tackling malefactors.

He swung around where they wouldn't, for the moment, see him and waited. When Quackerjack and One-Shot noticed his absence, he readied himself for a sneak attack.

"Somebody didn't clean up their action figures properly!" Quackerjack said in a teasing voice. He turned up the dial on his pogo stick and started bouncing – higher, and higher, and higher still! "Roses are red, violets are blue, no cape can escape a bird's eye view!"

Quackerjack would have been right, but he forgot that Gizmoduck had a pogo of his own. He activated the spring in his suit, and the wheel popped out – launching him up to Quackerjack's level.

"This airspace is taken!" He shouted, getting the jester's attention.

Quackerjack stuck out his tongue at him – for he was still only slightly out of reach. Gizmoduck's spring had a strong start, but didn't get quite the same height. They were both still rising towards the ceiling, but Gizmoduck's was doing so just a bit slower.

Quackerjack grinned, as usual. "Ha! Mine is better than yours!" He taunted. And he was right again, except Gizmoduck knew that what comes up, must come down. Sometimes, far more quickly.

"But mine comes with accessories!" On cue, a massive hammer extended upwards out of Gizmoduck's shoulder, poising itself just high enough for a rather forceful and very real life version of whack-a-mole. "Back to Earth with you!"

Quackerjack's face fell. It was a wonderful sight. "Ohhh… no…"

It was too late to get out of the way. Gizmoduck's hammer came down, and so did Quackerjack - crashing all the way down. He landed onto the stage with a *KRAK*, his pogo stick landing directly onto his head for a final insult.

One-Shot roared with frustration. "You think you're so cool, hot shot?" He shouted. His arm dove into his coat, and when he pulled it back out came… Gizmoduck could hardly believe it… an iceberg the size of a minivan!

Gizmoduck gaped. And thought _his_ suit broke a few laws of physics…

One-Shot hurled it Gizmoduck at fastball speeds, but luckily the 'tin man' had some experience doing the impossible as well. Form his other shoulder, he brought out a large tennis racket. "Not as 'cool' as you!" He countered, and when the iceberg came near he returned it with a power serve. "Fifteen-love!"

"Ack!" One-Shot tried to recoil, but the iceberg plowed directly into him – leaving nothing but a gaping hole in the floor where the manic supervillain had been.

"Oh, that's just swell…" Quackerjack groaned from his heap on the ground. He called out to his remaining comrade, though it came out more as a weak little mewl. "Little help, artiste?"

Splatter Phoenix' response was less than enthusiastic. "About that…" She backed up in front of him, revealing that she was up against a much bigger group now than the single interloper she had gone into battle with at first.

While Quackerjack and One-Shot had crashed and burned against Gizmoduck, Phoenix had not only failed to squash Mia, but she had also failed to stop her from freeing Launchpad. Who in turn had freed Scrooge. And all of them were ready for action, and looking rather aggravated about it at that.

Launchpad smiled at his savior. "Nice rescue, Mia!"

She winked in response. "Any time."

Scrooge, however, was far past the mood for any pleasantries. He advanced on the villains, cane raised defiantly. "Ye lot can step away from me property now!"

Quackerjack pulled himself to his feet, scanned the room, and made a snap decision. "You know, old guy? You're right!" He quickly gestured to Phoenix' brutish creation – who, twice humiliated or not – served a very important role in their plan. The hand-monster got the message right away, and leapt over to the TeleConstructor again. It lifted the device onto its many-fingered shoulder, as the villains prepared for a quick getaway.

"So we'll just take our prize and-"

"No. You're not," Mia said coldly. She revealed the TeleConstructor's remote, still safe on her person, and pressed a big red button in its center.

The device began to shake uncontrollably. A high pitched whine emanated from the inside as bolts of red and yellow electricity coursed around it. Not even the monster could remain oblivious to this, and it held the TeleConstructor to arms length trying to figure out why its plunder was suddenly so hot to the touch.

"Ah, darn," said Phoenix, freezing in the middle of giving her creation another order. There was no time to have it get away.

"Get down!" Quackerjack shouted. Everyone took his advice and dove under or behind something, all except for Gizmoduck. The metal plated hero activated another of his many gadgets, and a large riot shield popped out of his wrist for him to shield behind.

Meanwhile, One-Shot finally managed to pull himself out of the hole. He climbed over the edge just in time to see the monster hold out its overloading prize, right in front of him.

"Uh, is it supposed to be doing tha-"

 ***BOOM** *

The TeleConstructor detonated with enough force to send anyone in the room still on their feet – except Gizmoduck - onto their backs. When the smoke cleared One-Shot was plastered onto the far wall, the hand-monster was gone and there were splatters of paint strewn about everywhere.

Phoenix rose to her knees, pulling at her hair. "My masterpiece!"

Quackerjack sighed. "Oh, that's _swell…er?_ Sweller? Is that a thing?" He jumped slightly as a loud * **THUMP*** sounded behind him. One-Shot had peeled himself off the well and landed as close to his teammates as he could. "Oh," he said. "Forgot about you."

"S-solutions, boss?!" One-Shot drawled. With this eyes – the only part of his body not aching – he gestured to the heroes, who were also picking themselves off the floor and looking ready to finish the fight in their favor.

Gizmoduck led the charge. "Give up, evil-doers. There's no escape from the justice of GIIIZMODUCK!" Scrooge McDuck was not far behind him, followed by Launchpad and Mia.

This was not a fight Quackerjack was interested in having, not with the Constructor a pile of scrap. He rubbed his chin, making a show of being introspective. "Well, there _is_ Plan B. B, for… BUSHROOT!"

All of a sudden, the whole building began to shake and shiver. The unsettling sound of Quackerjack's wild laughter filled the room, putting them all on edge, before the shaking and shivering evolved into bucking and twisting. Where there was a safe, dependable (if easily attacked) piece of architecture, there seemed to now be a raging, out of control bronco – which sent everyone not prepared for it back to the floor again. Even Gizmoduck was affected this time.

But the villains _were_ prepared, and so they took this opportunity to make their escape – Quackerjack at the lead, Splatter Phoenix right behind, and One-Shot taking up the rear on an eight-legged spider/stretcher of Phoenix' design.

With great difficulty, Gizmoduck found an uneasy balance himself on his wheel. He would have to thank Gyro for the number of gyroscopes he stuffed into the suit.

But first things were first. The villains were out of sight, at least for now. But Bushroot was evidently using the vines that surrounded the Conference Hall as more than just a way to block the outside. From the feel of these tremors, the building was being lifted off of its foundation and shaken about like a maraca. He could only imagine how the civilians in the other room were handling it.

Indeed, he could practically hear Flintheart Glomgold and half a dozen of Scrooge's other rivals calling their lawyers from here…

"You know," Launchpad said shakily. He and everyone else were flopping around the room like pinballs, bouncing off of tables, off of walls, off of each other… "I completely forgot about Bushroot."

Scrooge was the only one besides Gizmoduck who seemed able to catch his bearings. He hooked his cane on one of the wall fixtures, allowing for at least a small bit of stability. "I think ah've had it up to here with supervillains," he grumbled. "And getting higher all the time! We've got to stop him before he pulls this place out from its roots!"

"There's only two places a villain like Bushroot would go if he wanted to control plants around the whole building!" Gizmoduck said definitively. "Here's hoping my suits coin-toss module gives me the right one!" One cue, a tiny hand popped out of the suit's forearm, holding an even tinier coin. Flipping it was a bit of a hassle, with the shaky terrain, but it only took him three tries – luckily, the others only saw the one. It came up heads.

He smacked his fists together, in yet another of his trademark heroic poses. "Well then, there we go! Wish me luck!"

"Wait!" Mia shouted. "What about-"

Without warning or restraint, Gizmoduck activated his helicopter and sped straight up through the ceiling, forcing the others to dodge the rain of splintered wood as well as the tables, the walls and each other.

"-us…" She finished, spitting out sawdust…

Gizmoduck made it to the top floor in seconds, but as he suspected beyond the roof was a thick, additional layer of plant matter. The vines were taut, pulling close in the effort of lifting the building, but no less bulky. Bypassing them was a daunting challenge perhaps for Fenton Crackshell or even Darkwing Duck's buzzsaw cufflinks, but it was nothing his suit's patented Hedge Cauterizer couldn't take care of. The high-powered laser popped out of his chest, and with the precision of an award winning gardener he cut a slowly burned a hole big enough to fly through into the vines. They shivered at the incision, but he had enough time to fly straight through.

The roof was a sea of green in every direction. From here, he could see that the vines were not separate plants, but one gigantic creature that joined in the middle. And right next to its blossom – also as he suspected - was Bushroot. The mutant plant-duck was oblivious to the hero's appearance, as he was too busy coaxing his pet plants and encouraging them to their best – and why shouldn't he be? This was perhaps the most arduous thing Gizmoduck had ever seen the villain do with his creations, though he was sure Darkwing could provide some other examples.

It would almost be impressive it wasn't being used for evil – Fenton could barely get his sweetheart Gandra's favorite roses to stop wilting.

"Halt, Bushroot!" He shouted. "This is not the botanical garden!"

"Oh, perfect." Bushroot moaned. He rubbed the plant on its pedals. "Take five, big guy!"

There was another massive * **THUD** * and the sound of surprised screaming as the building was unceremoniously dropped back into place.

The vines began to recede back into its source, which led to another wave of screaming as the crowd burst from the front doors and headed for the hills the moment they realized they were no longer being blocked.

"At least they're heading to safety," Gizmoduck groaned to himself. Hopefully, this incident wouldn't cause a panic. But before he could start worrying about that, he turned back to Bushroot – and at once, he was the picture of authority. "If you wanted a fight you should have left that as it is, Bushroot! Do you plan to surrender?"

"Not exactly." Bushroot said softly. Gizmoduck put his fists up, ready to battle, but the plant-duck didn't seem to notice. "You see, I can't exactly put up a fight _or_ surrender right now."

"Oh?" Gizmoduck snapped back. "And why is that?"

The villain looked surprisingly sheepish. "Well… because I'm not exactly here right now." Suddenly, his face began to look weary. In fact, all of him was withering at an astonishing rate. And his leaves were looking remarkably unhealthy… they were even coming apart at the stems!

Gizmoduck gasped as realization hit him. This wasn't Bushroot! It was just another plant, made to _look_ like Bushroot! Despite now knowing it was probably no use, he made to grab the copy before it could get away just to say he tried to do _something_ , but it disintegrated into spores and flower pedals before he could touch it.

"The number you have dialed has now been disconnected..." it said as it dissipated. "Please hang up… and try… again…"

The false Bushroot, and the plant the mad scientist had used to control the building, drifted away into the wind. This left Gizmoduck alone with his thoughts – which were angry enough to be censored at this point.

"So much for the coin toss." He grumbled under his breath. "Maybe I should've checked the basement instead…"

But there was nothing more to be done here, regardless of his feelings. So he hopped back into the hole in the roof and made his way back down to the main hall, where the others were taking stock of the damage.

"What happened, lad?" Scrooge said as Gizmoduck approached.

"Bushroot's gone." He replied, feeling sheepish. He didn't much like failing in front of his boss. "Or he was never here to begin with. It's not entirely clear."

"Yeesh, since when were these guys so smart?"

"At least they didn't take anything."

"Guess again, Launchpad."

They all turned to Scrooge, who was standing in front of his empty whiteboard. The visual aids he brought with him – the very same ones Gizmoduck had seen Splatter Phoenix posturing over earlier - were gone. Evidently, the villainess had never put them back after seeing them.

"They stole the blueprints from your presentation?" Mia asked, simply for clarification's sake. "That seems petty. But I guess if you're a crook, you never leave anywhere empty handed."

"Aye, but ah can't imagine why they _would_ take it." Scrooge added. "Those simple schematics are just for show. They'd never get anything they could use out of them." He seemed lost in thought, and Gizmoduck couldn't blame him. _He_ couldn't put his mind around it either.

But it seemed like Launchpad could. "Splatter Phoenix!" He said suddenly. He slapped himself in the forehead. "She doesn't just paint living things, she can also paint over drawings and stuff and _make_ them real."

"So you mean…" Mia started.

Scrooge didn't wait for her to finish that sentence. "Outside! Now!"

The entire group ran to the parking lot, blowing past any of the remaining audience members as they did so. True enough, a quick scan of the area showed that the villains had left the blueprints behind – discarded now that its use was expended.

Scrooge picked it up, and turned it over to reveal the unfortunate truth. The blueprint as a whole was untouched, but the visual schematics of the TeleConstructor were gone from the picture – as if they were never there to begin with.

"Egads!" Gizmoduck gasped. "But… if the picture's vanished, then that means…"

"… it was all another decoy. All of it." Mia said, looking as surprised as Gizmoduck sounded. "All they needed was the paper. Going after the actual prototype Constructor was just to pull our attention away from their _real_ goal."

Scrooge was a lot less shocked, and a lot more angry. "Decoys upon decoys, _curse me kilts!_ " He growled. "The rats got what they came for after all…"

The others fell silent, not sure how to respond for fear of making the moment worse.

But Scrooge merely looked into the horizon, towards his Money Bin. The sight of his vault, stable and proud – representative of his ups and downs as a businessman, and his successes and failures as a person - always tended to calm him down when he was feeling apprehensive. But this time, the boiling in his gut felt far too much like failure and far too little like success.

You couldn't win them all, even as the richest duck in the world. It was something he had to accept a long time ago. But he had the distinct impression that in this moment he was losing more than he was able to realize.

Not to mention, there was something else nagging at the back of his mind…

"Wait a minute…" He shouted suddenly, surprising everyone. He looked around at the retreating crowd, scanning the faces looking for something specific. Three somethings, to be precise. "Where are the boys!?"

Gizmoduck gulped, and looked warily towards the Money Bin. Scrooge followed his gaze, but this time when he stared back at the horizon, there was more than just wistfulness in his eyes.

"But what is blazes could they be doing _there?"_ He searched his coat, and brought out his security alert, hoping against hope that it would blank and there would be no more bad news. But luck was not with him, not tonight. "Curse me kilts, I have another alert on my security system! The alarms in the Bin have been blocked."

"If the alarm's been blocked, how did you get an alert?" Mia asked.

Scrooge automatically started to explain. "Because… oh." Just as he started he stopped, gasping. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Oh no..."

* * *

 _Back At The Money Bin_

Darkwing and the triplets carefully moved closer to Scrooge's office, following Armstrong and Camille but trying not to alert them to their presence.

The two villains had not, to their surprise, tried going after Scrooge's money yet. In fact, Armstrong had been dithering around looking at the walls for the past ten minutes - despite the fact that if anyone could open the door, he could. Camille seemed just as confused at they were by his behavior.

"The vault isss right there!" The lizard-duck was complaining, just as she had been since this adventure began. "If we're going after the money, you're going the wrong way!"

"TEMPTING. AS. MCDUCK'S. RICHES. ARE…" Amstrong replied, checking the creases in of the wallpaper. He hadn't so much as looked at vault since they arrived.

"Then I repeat," Camille said, her tone dangerously low. " _What are we doing here?"_

Armstrong finally looked up at her. "SCROOGE. IS. A. FLESHY. FOOL." He said matter of factly. "HE. IS. DRIVEN. BY. SENTIMENT… IT. MAKES. HIM. DWELL. ON. THE. PAST."

Camille snarled. "Hey, I happen to be made of flesssh too, you tin can!" She said, growling. "I sssuppossse you think that makesss me sssentimental too."

"YOU. PURSUE. AN. EXTREME. LIFESTYLE. OF. VINDICTIVENESS. AND. CRUELTY. BECAUSE. OF. CHILDHOOD. INSULTS." Armstrong's metal mouth lifting into a smirk when as he saw Camille's lip curl. He turned back to his work, chuckling. "YOUR. EVERY. CRIME. IS. A. CALL. FOR. HELP… YOU. COULD. USE. A. PSYCHIATRIST."

Camille clenched her fists, which were unconsciously growing in size - Armstrong's analysis evidently hit close to home. "Yesss?!" Camille shouted, turning red in the face. She fell into childish whining. "Well… everything that'sss wrong with _you_ can be fixed by a mechanic! It wouldn't even have to be a _good_ mechanic, either!"

"CORRECTION…" Armstrong said bluntly. "THERE. IS. _NOTHING._ WRONG. WITH. ME." He placed his hand on a seemingly random part of the wall and suddenly started to pull. An alarm sounded, but only briefly – the light on Armstrong's nose flashed, and the klaxons went silent.

Camille's foul mood evaporated, replaced by sheer curiosity. "Objection recsssinded. Blocking that alarm wasss your doing, yesss?" She asked. "It won't be a problem?"

Armstrong stepped ahead of her, into the room. "NO… BUT. THIS. ROOM. HAS. ITS. OWN. THAT. ONLY. SCROOGE. RECIEVES." He added, a cynical edge to his robotic monotone. "HOPEFULLY. YOUR. COMRADES. CAN. _ACTUALLY._ KEEP. HIS. ATTENTION."

Camille's scowl returned, souring at the implied insult. "I ssshow _you_ attention…" She muttered as she followed behind.

Meanwhile Darkwing backed away from the door, and turned back to the triplets for answers. "That's a new one. What's in there?"

But the boys looked completely lost. Even Huey had lost his standoffish edge, and even seemed a little nervous. "We don't know!" He whispered. "I never even knew that room was there!"

As a rule, Darkwing didn't like vagueness in his adventures, but he knew when keeping an exception was necessary. "Then whatever it is, it's not theirs to meddle with." He concluded. "Enough recon…"

"He's going to say it!" Louie squeaked, bobbing up and down and squeaking like a rusty doorhinge. "He's going to say it!"

Huey rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, and Dewey put a hand to his face to hide the fact that he was laughing at both of them.

Darkwing, meanwhile, leapt to his feet. Some things – like a dramatic call to action – were worth risking a little stealth in his book. He stood dramatically and, with a mental fanfare at his heels, pointed into the non-existent wind.

"Let's… get… _dangerous!"_

Louie nearly fainted. Huey caught him, but made it clear that if not for the fact that they needed to stay silent, he would have let him hit the floor.

But the need for silence was quickly dwindling. It might have been the dramatic declaration, or it might have been the fainting collegiate duck, but something caught the villains' attention – and they wouldn't be fooled twice. Luckily, Darkwing had no intention of hiding out this time.

Armstrong and Camille turned just before they would have disappeared into the secret room, leaping to the center of Scrooge's office with their proverbial claws bared. "Who'sss thisss?" Camille gasped. She gestured for her robotic companion to follow her lead towards the office doors, readying themselves for an unwary interloper.

But Darkwing knew better than to take the predictable way in. In fact, he was already behind them – so focused were they on the entrance that they never noticed the crimefighter circling around to a corner behind them. They would likely notice him in a moment, but a moment is all he needed.

He fired a canister at the villains' feet. They recoiled in surprise, but were quickly engulfed as purple smoke filled the room.

"What the-" Camille shouted. "No, don't tell me…"

"How soon we forget, Camille!" Darkwing shouted, his voice echoing unseen through the smoke. "Then again, how long _has_ it been?"

"Not long enough!"

Armstrong trained his eyes, trying to use his superior vision to make out Darkwing's shape through the haze. But as he was focusing on the entrance, he only found nothing. "HOW. TEDIOUS."

Meanwhile, Darkwing was in his element. "In case you've forgotten, then: I am the terror that flaps in the night!"

Darkwing heard a high pitched whining come through from somewhere in the smoke, which he chalked up to another starstruck reaction from Louie.

"I am the pay day that always comes too late!"

"Sshow yourself!"

"If you insist!" Darkwing vaulted over Scrooge's desk and rebounded off of the back of Camille's head, before making a perfect gymnast landing directly behind them. "I… am _-_ "

"Darkwing Duck!" Camille finished for him, rubbing her head and glaring hatefully. The villains whipped around, already finding whatever weapons they had to use – which, between the two, was quite a spread.

He hated when the villains finished his intro for him, but this was easy enough to play off of. "That's right! And what do you know, I can use decoys too!" He pointed behind the two, and they turned once again to find themselves completely ringed by the trio of Duck siblings.

Dewey spoke for all of them. "We're here to stop you again, Armstrong!"

The robot's eyes narrowed, but he made no response.

"You insssipid meddler!" Camille shouted, still focusing on Darkwing.

"Meddler?" Darkwing laughed. "That's rich. I've been listening - like you even know what it is I'm even meddling _in,_ lizard lips."

Camille shot a glance at Armstrong who, as if to prove Darkwing's point, was ignoring the scene entirely.

"TAKE. CARE. OF. THIS." He droned, inching away without even looking back at her, Darkwing or the triplets.

Darkwing moved to stop him, but unlike their earlier spats this time Camille had opted not to argue. In fact, she looked rather ecstatic at the opportunity. "For oncsse, I have no objectionsss!" She replied, leering at Darkwing with murderous glee.

Unsurprisingly, she made the first move. Her arm morphed into some kind of enormous cactus, with huge, razor sharp spikes. She drove her fist straight at Darkwing, who easily slipped around it, and instead the momentum carried into the wall. She demolished Scrooge's desk, but that was only damage she did.

"Ha! That's the oldest trick in the book and you still missed it, Camille." Darkwing taunted, moving into position behind her. "Someone needs to work on their fundamentals!"

With that, he charged forward, planning to floor her with a punch of his own. Instead, he fist collided at full speed concrete wall. It took and unfortunately long moment before his brain caught up to the pain he should be feeling – and when he did, he was left yowling and shaking his hand like a madman.

"Nicsse try, Dorkwing!" Camille laugh, though her raspy voice came through Cementhead's mouth. "Who'sss forgotten their fundamentalsss now?!"

"Still you, Camille!" He hissed. He forced himself to find his center and put the pain out of his mind. "Solid rock is no match for a Quack Fu master!"

He fell into a fighting stance, readying all his focus on his martial arts training. It was no different than crushing a boulder under his master direction. Admittedly, Goose Lee was a charlatan, but he knew his stuff when it came to this sort of thing.

Like lighting, he leapt forward with his patented flying web kick, planning to drive all his force straight into Camille's rock solid chest and wipe the villainous smirk off of her face.

Instead, his feet slipped harmlessly as if through water. Naturally, Camille had shifted shapes again, this time into something less than solid. It looked like a giant blob out of the horror movies Gosalyn liked to watch, and going through it felt just about as unpleasant it looked on the screen.

Darkwing popped out the other side, hit the opposite wall with a dull "oof!" and bounced straight to the ground, cursing his poor luck in adversaries. "Why couldn't I get the Beagle Boys once in a while. It always has to be the oddballs…"

He didn't have much time to mull, for Camille was on him in moments – ditching her jelly-like form for something more solid. "What can I sssay, you bring out the worssst in usss!" She hissed like a burning rift and above Darkwing, swiping at him with changing arms. Her retort wasn't just a snappy comeback, it was a cue-in: she was taking another new form. This time, something big, ornery and what Darkwing could only describe as "tentacular."

Darkwing took facing off against a giant squid indoors with surprising calm. "Been watching many horror movies, Camille?"

"Yesss," she replied. "And they all end with the heroesss _ripped to shreds!"_

One of the tentacles came too close "Yipe! Why have gotten so dark with old age…"

Meanwhile the triplets stood on the side, unsure of how or when to jump in and help. Louie looked around, realizing that there was one less in the room than there ought to have been. "Armstrong's disappeared!" He said to his brothers, gesturing to the nothing that was now where they last saw the nefarious robot.

"He's gotta be in that secret room! We can't let him get what he's after, but at the same time…" Louie looked nervously between the battle in front of him and the secret room. "… we can't just leave Darkwing… he could die out here!"

Huey may have been hard-edged towards Darkwing, but Louie knew he could count on him and Dewey to back him up in this case. "He's in a stalemate." Huey noted, closely watching the fight. "He can't win this on his own. She'll just keep changing whenever he tries to hit her!"

"So we have to help him!" Louie replied. "But how?"

Slowly, he and Huey turned to look at their remaining brother.

Dewey sighed with only mildly sincere irritation. "Why do guys always look at me? It's not like I'm the only who has ideas." But when no response came, he shrugged. He _did_ have an idea, which only made it worse in his opinion. "She's a chameleon, right? That would make her cold-blooded."

Huey looked skeptical. "Bro, she just turned into an amoeba!

"I think it's just skin deep-"

"It _literally_ isn't-

" _Would you just listen?!"_ Dewey's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly, and Huey fell silent. "Her body's makeup may wildly change, but I think her DNA should stay the same."

Louie looked astounded, but the look on Huey's face made it clear he was still unconvinced. "And you know this… how?"

Dewey smiled sheepishly. "I… may have read an old news story or two about Darkwing's adventures after I met him the first time."

"That's my bro!" Louie laughed. Huey rolled his eyes. "But remind me to never look at her under an X-Ray."

"Fine," Huey said, begrudgingly continuing the train of thought. "So if she's still cold blooded…" His eyes lit up, "that means she's probably vulnerable to changes in heat!"

"Do we have any way to make things hot in here?" Louie asked, looking around.

"No," Dewey said. "But we can make it nice and frosty!" He ran back into the main office and quickly found one of the building's obligatory fire extinguishers.

Camille was hit right in the back with the blast. "W-what?!" Her form fluttered, and she instinctively morphed back to her normal self – slightly slower than usual.

Louie and Huey cheered. Dewey, spurred on by the moment, gestured for his brothers to help him – and together, they threw the extinguisher towards the hero. "Darkwing! Catch!"

Darkwing held his hands out, but they all realized a bit too late that an extinguisher heavy enough that three teens had to throw it together probably wouldn't be easy for an adult duck to catch.

With a pitch perfect * _POW*,_ Darkwing was knocked back by the hit, tumbled over the remains of Scrooge's desk and – naturally – slammed into the wall yet again (the next words out of his mouth were slurred and possibly gibberish, but to a close ear it might have sounded a bit like "why is it always me..?")

As Darkwing peeled himself off the wall a second time, the boys were momentarily reduced to wincing, whistling nonchalantly and pulling at their collars, murmuring apologies and generally looking uncomfortable. But luckily Darkwing he was back on his feet momentarily, and he threw them a thumbs up to ease their worries.

Even luckier, Camille was too stunned by the blast to take advantage of his fall. She was still gunning for Darkwing, but she moved far more sluggishly than before. Her arms morphed into tiger claws, but the rest of her was far behind. As she swiped at Darkwing, the movement was so slow that he could easily circle around and blast her again from behind.

"Nooo!" She shouted. Her green color was turning blue, which looked quite unhealthy. "T-too c-c-cold! C-can't change!"

"That's the idea!" Darkwing shouted, aiming a flying kick at her midsection. She went rolling across the floor, cursing venomously.

Meanwhile, Louie got his brothers attention and directed them towards the secret room. "He's got this now!" He said urgently. "Let's got get Armstrong!"

Sparing one last look to make sure the hero really did have this – and given that Camille's claws were now growing in at rate only slightly faster than _actual_ fingernail grown, it was fairly certain – the boys split off from the battle and rushed after the android.

Despite the urgency, the three opened the door as carefully as they could, trying not to draw attention to themselves or the losing battle Camille was facing outside. As before, they crouched low and kept their movements quiet: they had no idea what they were walking into or what Armstrong was planning to do in there. And thanks to their many experiences they knew that before they made to stop him, it was only smart to find out the answers to both of those questions first.

The room inside was narrow and dark, but not so small that the three couldn't sneak in and hide without being seen. At the far end, Armstrong stood in front of a large computer – one that not connected to the rest of the building's mainframe. The computer's monitor was big – large enough that they could see what was on it with relative clarity even with Armstrong in the way. As they door slid closed behind them, they realized that they could barely hear the pitched battle they had just left: whatever Scrooge used this room for, he needed it to be soundproof as well as secluded.

"Just what was Uncle Scrooge _doing_ in here?" Dewey asked. Despite knowing his uncle well, he felt a bit nervous intruding in a room like this. Something felt wrong about it.

"A guy like Uncle Scrooge could have a million reasons for keeping a secret like this," Louie said, though he also sounded anxious.

Huey jabbed them both, making shushing sounds. "If you guys don't clam up, we'll never find out!"

The three fell silent. And as the file downloaded, it began to play. The voice of their great uncle echoed from the computer, but without his usual cunning or fervor. Instead, the voice coming through was weary and somber – quite unlike the Scrooge they knew.

"Hello, Scrooge…" it sighed. "Need another reminder, do ye? I guess ye _are_ a glutton fer punishment. All these years, and ye still can't forget. _I_ still can't forget."

"That really is Uncle Scrooge?" Louie gasped. Huey nudged him again, furiously putting a finger to his mouth.

They continued to listen, and the recording of Scrooge continued its strange speech. "Ah won't mince words. After all, that's not why you're here." An image of a large, wooden building in the middle of what looked like the savannah appeared onscreen. There were crates and carriages coming out of it, carrying glittering piles of diamonds and gems. "Ye know what ye had, how ye got it."

"That's… the McDuck Diamond Exchange!" Huey whispered, his interest in his Uncle's business history overtaking his good sense to keep hidden. "It was one of Uncle Scrooge's most profitable businesses way back in the day. They called him the Empire Builder from Calisota!"

"But didn't he close that place just a few years later?" Louie replied. An odd pit was forming in his stomach – he didn't much like where this was going. "I think Uncle Scrooge once told us…"

"Yes, that's true, whatever!" Dewey whispered harshly. This time he was the one to nudging his brothers in the ribs. "The question is, what's so important about it _now?_ So shush! The video's still going!"

The image of the diamond exchange vanished. Instead "Ye know what was there before."

"You know what you did."

"No…" Louie completely seized up, that pit in his stomach becoming a gaping maw into which his heart freely fell.

This was wrong. It had to be. His uncle, who always bragged about making his business "square," who had raised the boys with years of sage advice about fair play and good business – strange and sometimes amoral, but still honorable advice – had been responsible for something like this? Once brutally forced good people – _innocent_ people – out of their homes so that he could make a buck? It didn't make sense!

Scrooge McDuck was not a liar. He couldn't – _wouldn't -_ believe it.

He could barely stand to look at his brothers, nor they at him. They were doing little better at the revelation, but Louie's reaction was the most severe – and perhaps the severity of his reaction that was keeping them from doing the same. He was shaking, eyes wide, and his fists clenched so tightly that he could've crushed a lump of coal. His breath was increasingly ragged and heavy. Concerned even through their own shock, Dewey and Huey put their hands on his shoulders in a half-hearted effort to comfort him, but he shook them off.

The screen flipped to a new image, and Louie's hands unclenched ever so slightly.

"Ye know why no matter what you do, you can never make up fer it. Never."

"Don't forget this, McDuck. Don't make these mistake again. Fer yer sake. Fer the boys' sake. Fer the world's sake, even. And if this isn't me… heaven forbid this is Donald, or the boys, or anyone else… find it in yer heart to forgive an old fool for his mistakes long ago. For that fool himself never will, as long as he lives."

"HA. HA… DON'T. WORRY. MCDUCK... _I._ FORGIVE. YOU!" Armstrong laughed. "ESPECIALLY. NOW. THAT. YOUR. GREATEST. SECRET. WILL. BE. YOUR. DOWNFALL!"

Armstrong's cold laughter, as if cruelly confirming the truth, was the last straw. Louie leapt from their hiding place, away from his brother's arms, screaming at the top of his lungs. _"NO! THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"_ He charged straight at Armstrong, throwing all caution away in his rage.

The other two dove out of hiding as well, struggling to grab him. "Louie, no!" But it was too late.

Armstrong quickly turned around – his arm already extending in their direction. Had he known they were there the whole time? "IMPOSSIBLE… IS. IT?"

The robot twisted his arm, trying to grab Louie, but the teenage duck dodged out of the way. "Uncle Scrooge would never! He would _NEVER!_ "

"ARE. YOU. SURE?" For an expressionless mask of metal, Armstrong face looked like the picture of glee. He whipped his hands in every direction, using the cramped width of the room to make it almost impossible to avoid getting hit.

Louie only made it halfway before he finally zigged where he should have zagged. Armstrong got a grip around his waist and instantly slammed him into the wall. Dewey and Huey jumped up to help him, but they were knocked down as well.

Amstrong advanced on them, his eyes glowing red in the dim light of the room.

"I. HAVE. SCROOGE'S. BIGGEST. SECRET… I. HAVE. HIS. MEDDLING. BRATS… AND. SOON… MY. REVENGE. WILL. BE. FULLY. COMPLETE!"

"Hey! _Brats?!_ " Huey protested. "We're not kids any more!"

Armstrong ignored him. "YOUR. SAINTLY. UNCLE. KNOWS. MANY. THINGS…" A loud _ding_ gave the alert that the download was complete. Armstrong turned back to the console and began searching for other files with one hand, while the other kept a crushing hold on the boys. "OLD. SHAMES… CONFIDENTAL. FINANCIAL. RECORDS… THE. LOCATION. OF. EVERY. TREASURE. HE. EVER. FOUND… ALL. WILL. BE. MINE!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it, transistor brains!" Darkwing sprung unto the scene, rounding the corner made by the door while firing his grappling hook. It dug into the wall next to Armstrong, and upon activating it Darkwing quickly flew straight at Armstrong before the robot could react.

"Darkwing!" Louie shouted excitedly as his hero sped past.

Armstrong recoiled as the hero's shoulder collided with his face. It didn't do much damage to his metal skin, but it did stun enough for him to nearly fall off balance.

Darkwing pushed off of Armstrong before the android could counterattack and backflipped back to the ground. Quick on the draw as ever, he had all-purpose gas gun out and ready by the time he landed.

"Suck shock bomb, evil doer!"

He pulled the trigger, and shot a pulsing, metal bullet at Armstrong… but it didn't hit the metallic villain. Instead, it whizzed past him with _just_ enough space for him to avoid replacing some very essential machinery.

Either Armstrong just slightly pulled away at the last second, or Darkwing's shooting was not as dead center as it could have been.

For someone who had nearly been heading for the scrap heap, Armstrong took this rather well. "LAST. CHANCE. AND. YOU. _MISSED!?"_ He grinned evilly. His one free arm shifted, and a large blowtorch popped out where a moment ago his hand had been. "HA. HA. HA. HA."

In his zeal for victory, however, he failed to notice Darkwing smirking. He sighed, but in amusement rather than anger. "Why don't they ever look behind them?"

"HA- WHAT?!"

Armstrong whipped around, just in time to see his fatal mistake. The bomb had missed _him_ by a mile, but it lodged itself perfectly into the console. With a desperate, metallic roar, Armstrong lurched forward and yanked his cable out of the computer just before the explosive let out a massive wave of electricity – completely frying the console.

"INCONCEIVABLE!" Armstrong's lightbulb flickered in a moment of complete fury, but as befitting his robotic status he was quickly composing himself again. "BUT. NO. MATTER…" He said, staring Darkwing down with murderous intent. "I. STILL. HAVE. SCROOGE'S. WORST. SECRET!"

"We'll see about that." Darkwing said, dropping into fighting stance. Around him, the triplets stood their ground as well – looking for any way they could to help.

Armstrong's eyes tracked each of his four opponents, and decided that he liked the odds. "YES… WE. SHALL."

He lunged forward, extending his arms and legs in an attempt to surround them. But the ducks – to his chagrin - were ready for him. At exactly the same time, the triplets leapt forward together - each grabbing a limb and pulling it to the ground simultaneously.

The effects were dramatic. Abruptly down two legs and an arm, Armstrong lurched wildly off balance. He may have been strong enough to throw any of the boys across the room under normal circumstances, but he was no match against gravity. His equilibrium lost, his limbs still extending - now out of control – Armstrong teetered over and fell forward, right into Darkwing's path.

The masked mallard inched into the right shot, making sure his attack would be perfectly lined up, and then jumped straight up. He activated his his sole remaining buzzsaw cufflink and slashed it across Armstrong's chest.

It was a perfectly clean hit, and it tore open a large hole in Armstrong's chassis. He roared in frustration, promising death and destruction upon each of the meddlers there, but when he tried to move to retaliate he received a big surprise.

He was unable to do a thing – or nothing more intensive than growling at his enemies. Darkwing's hit had to have have struck an important wire or device in Armstrong's chest, because at one the robot's entire metal body collapsed motionlessly. Only his head remained functional.

"WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE?!" Armstrong glared daggers at them, his metal face pulled into a furious snarl.

Darkwing put his hands on his hips. Putting on his best "glorious hero" voice, he gave the cadenza to this fight. "And so, the hardy hero and his young sidekicks defeat the metal megalomaniac!" He said, smirking down at his mechanical foe. "It looks like your plans to steal Scrooge secrets have been deactivated."

The triplets glanced at each other, looking skeptical. "'Young sidekicks?'"

Dewey sighed. "Let it go, Hue."

Armstrong's eyes flashed, but there was an air of desperation behind his defeated anger. "SO. IT. SEEMS… BUT. AT. LEAST. I. HAVE. _ONE._ SECRET. TO TELL. _"_

"Fat lot of good it will do you now, you-"

Suddenly, Armstrong's body seized. His extendable neck shuddered, then popped out from under his chin – sundering his head from the rest of his body. It rolled off of its base and landed on the floor, grinning wildly despite it's newly downtrodden position.

"-hey!" Darkwing shouted, but Armstrong simply laughed. A small burst of energy ignited like a firecracker from the socket where his neck had been, and Armstrong's head was launched through the door into Scrooge's main office.

The assorted ducks dove to catch him, but being far too late they only managed to crash into each other.

"Could he always do that?" Louie gasped, rubbing his bumped forehead.

Darkwing was already back on his feet and running to the door. "What does it matter? Get him now!"

When they got through, Armstrong was already on the far side on the room. Camille was slumped in the corner, where Darkwing had propped her up after knocking her out. Before they could get close, Armstrong gave one last burst of ignition and rocketed himself directly into her chest.

Camille woke from the impact with a solid "oof!", eyes bugging out and senses dulled, so it took her a moment to get a handle on the situation: Darkwing had beaten her, the heroes were approaching fast, about 1/8th of Armstrong was sitting in her arms…

She blinked, looking down at her divided companion. "Got too a- _head_ of yourssself, did you?"

"JUST. RUN. YOU. FOOL!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Jumping to her feet, Camille for the nearest exit. She was still weakened by their fight, but she didn't need too much energy to change into something quick and agile – like, say, a bald eagle. Suddenly adorned with wings, she flapped up towards the ceiling where the ducks couldn't reach her and swooped out of office doors – heading for the stairs.

"You won't get away, you… er… mechanical megalomaniac!" Darkwing shouted – already loading an expandable net into his gas gun.

Behind him, Huey grumbled under his breath. "Enough with the alliteration, already…" Darkwing shot him a sideways glance, but otherwise everyone ignored him.

Rather than explain his theatrical flair, Darkwing kept his sight trained on the fleeing villains. He had to prevent them from getting too far – and luckily, he had tools for just such an occasion. He threw a small smoke pellet at the staircase door, which didn't do much to cloud the room but at least diverted Camille away from their escape long enough for him to catch up. With their initial escape foiled and Darkwing having a beat on them, Camille was forced her to veer away from the exit and instead began zipping around the room to avoid getting pinned down.

Darkwing knew that an attack was next – and lo and behold, almost immediately he had to dodge as Armstrong shot some kind of laser from his eyes. It wasn't hard to avoid, but then it probably wasn't meant to be. They needed to distract Darkwing before they could escape now, but all _he_ had to do was make one shot and the game would be up. But his aim would have to be very careful – the net took time to reload, so if he missed they were home free. And neither Armstrong nor Camille were intent on making it easy.

On the contrary, even given that he was keeping Darkwing on his toes with all the laser Armstrong looked practically giddy. At least, giddy for someone who was reduced to just a head and was a single misfortune away from imprisonment.

"YOU'RE. QUICK... BUT. NOT. EVEN. YOU. CAN. BE. EVERYWHERE!" The robot shot. "LOOK. BEHIND. YOU. 'HERO!'"

As this was the oldest trick in the book, Darkwing didn't dignify it with even a half-turn. But it seemed the joke was on him no matter what he did: for he happened to have three triplets to do his looking for him, and they were soon making it clear that there really was something to be concerned about – in as distracting a way as possible, it seemed.

"Quackaroonie!" Dewey shouted loudly from the other room. "What's going on with Armstrong?"

"He's nearly getting away, that's what!" Darkwing shouted, trying not to look. He almost had them dead to right, all he needed was a few more seconds. "Stand still, you beaky buzzard!"

"Look who'sss talking, ssshovel beak!" Camille snickered. She divebombed him, but Darkwing wasn't deterred. He rolled and took aim again – this time lining up a perfect shot! He had them now…

At least, he did until Louie ran forward and grabbed his shoulder, accidentally knocking his aim away. Luckily, he didn't pull the trigger. "No, we mean his body! Something's up with it!"

Darkwing groaned, but he recognized the danger. The villains weren't even trying to escape now. They were both watching him from above, grinning – which clearly meant that this was bad news.

He backed away carefully until he could see Scrooge's secret room. It immediately became obvious what the problem was. Armstrong's headless, slashed body was vibrating ominously, and flashing in several bright, foreboding colors. The air around it shimmered with heat as a sharp whine sound grew louder and louder – until it was practically deafening…

"Oh, for-" Darkwing sighed, knowing right away what this meant, but there was nothing for it. "It's gonna blow!"

He turned to the triplets and quickly ushered them to the door of Scrooge's vault – not bothering to think about what the villains would do with this opportunity. "Can you boys get us in there?" He asked very quickly. "Do us all a favor and say 'yes.'"

"We can, but-" Huey started, looking to the bodyless villain and his reptile counterpart. They were done leering, and were now fleeing as fast as they could. There was no way for Darkwing to make sure himself and the triplets were safe from the explosion _and_ catch them, and they knew it. Huey frowned as he watched them run, laughing all the while.

"There'll be another chance!" Darkwing shouted, knowing _exactly_ what Huey was feeling. "Trust me, with guys like that there's _always_ a round two!"

Huey nodded, and reluctantly put his hand on a sensor outside of the vault, and the door popped open. A little voiced chimed a greeting for "Huey Duck – Trustee" but none of them had time to pay attention to it.

"More of a round three for us." Dewey quipped as they all made their way inside. As soon as everyone cleared the threshold, they all gripped the inside of the door and pushed it shut together.

Darkwing sighed, making a show out of being despondent. "Round two. Round three. Round eleven. It's the story of my life, really." The vault locked with a heavy _CLICK_ , leaving them safe but ensuring that they were momentarily cut off.

A second later, the muffled sound of a titanic explosion could be heard on the other side. But the vault was built to withstand any kind of danger – small scale, calamitous and even, in some cases, apocalyptic – so those on the inside didn't feel a thing.

Once the sound of explosions ended, Darkwing led the boys in pulling the door open again. It was not a pretty sight on the other side.

"Yeah, that looks about right." Darkwing sighed. "Luckily, McDuck has the world's best insurance."

The entire office was crater. The exterior walls held, as they were built to, but the secret room wasn't just wrecked - there was no longer a room there at all. The wall between it and the main room was completely obliterated. And the door to the employee offices was hanging on by splinters.

There was rubble and sawdust everywhere, but Darkwing still rushed out into it – closely followed by Huey and Dewey.

"They're gone!" Huey said angrily, looking back and forth as if he could still find them around any corner.

Dewey put a hand on his brother's shoulder, but he was staring back at Darkwing. "Which means Armstrong has…" Dewey trailed off. His face was lined with worry. "W-Whatever that was on Uncle Scrooge's computer…"

Louie lumbered out of the vault behind everyone else. He eyes were down and his face was set, but when Dewey brought up the message he raised his head, showing a completely different demeanor than usual. Now that the danger was over, his eyes were hardened and his face was totally emotionless.

He slowly looked at the other three, glaring from one to another, before finally affixing his glare on Darkwing.

"… was it true?" He murmured, so low that the others almost didn't hear him.

Not sure what else to do, Darkwing shrugged. "How should I know? He's _your_ uncle."

"You've worked with him!" He rounded on Huey, who seemed too surprised and lost in thought himself to react. "And you! You didn't know anything about this, with how much want to be Uncle Scrooge's little protégé."

Huey was unable to say anything, and it was Dewey who stepped up in his defense. "Lou, calm down. I don't think any of us were even _born_ when Uncle Scrooge… when he-"

Suddenly Louie was shouting. "- _WHEN HE WHAT_?"The other recoiled back from his sudden outburst, which made him pause. He took a moment to compose himself before continuing to rant. "Do you mean when he threw a village full of innocent people out of their homes so he could make money, Dew? Cause you should say it for what it is!"

"Uncle Scrooge hasn't…" Dewey started and stopped again, short on words. "He didn't… he _isn't_ like that now."

"How do we know? How could _any_ of us know?" Louie replied, as tension rose higher and higher. "If he could do something like this, what does that say about _us?"_

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Suddenly, Darking pushed his way between them. "Hey, cut it out!" He showed, noting the combined anger and sadness on both brothers' faces. "That secret kept for decades, it'll keep for a little while more. What's important now is to find Scrooge and plan our next move. Hopefully Giz actually managed to take care of Conference Hall.

"I hope so." Louie replied. It was a caring statement, but in his words it somehow sounded cold and blunt. "We need to have a talk with our Uncle."

"Louie…"

"Don't, Dew!" Louie snapped. "If it's true, if he did what that video said he did..." He gulped heavily. "Then we deserve to hear it from him!"

Huey turned away. Dewey looked as though he was going to say something more, but deflated at the last moment. Darkwing merely watched the scene unfold, unsure of how to interfere – or even if he should. Emotional crises were always harder to deal with than superheroic ones.

Fortunately, or unfortunately as the case may be, he didn't have to make that decision. "Boys?" An anxious Scottish brogue sounded from the stairwell. Several footsteps could be heard running up from below. "Boys! Are ye up there?"

Suddenly feeling decisive, Darkwing felt the urge to find a way stave off the inevitable somehow, but in the end he gestured to the exit. "Here's your chance," he said simply.

Louie was out the door in seconds, the other boys anxiously trailing behind him.

Darkwing stayed put, feeling far more content to sit amongst debris than to take one step towards the firestorm that was about to ignite in the next room.

He could hear sounds of happiness and relief give way to infuriated shouting – mostly coming from a certain college-aged duck - coming up from below.

He looked around at the damage, tracing the bombed-out scorch marks with his eyes, and wondered if Armstrong hadn't gotten that personal revenge he was boasting about after all...

* * *

 _Elsewhere In Duckburg,_

Camille hurried though the skyline, a little low on speed thanks to the extra weight she was carrying but still more than deft enough to put serious distance between herself and any pursuing cops – let alone capes.

The two soon approached the city limits, though that didn't do much to improve her mood. She was running from _Darkwing_ – her pride was singed beyond belief – and as far as she can tell there was nothing to show for it.

"Well, thisss is a fine messs!" She bitterly hissed to her passenger. "Did we even get anything out of that fiasssco?!"

Armstrong's expression was even less readable than usual. "LESS. THAN. HOPED…" He stared ahead, his eyes glinted red in the darkness. "BUT. STILL. PLENTY."

Unsurprisingly, the vague answer didn't help. "I'll take your word for it," she said gruffly.

"I. ALSO. SUGGEST. YOU. TAKE. A. LOOK. BELOW."

"What…" She glanced downward, and found a familiar set of lights conspicuously parked in the middle of the outskirts. "Aha! Looksss like we're not the only onesss making a quick getaway!"

"DESCEND… WE. MUST. TA-"

Camille didn't bother to wait for him to finish talking. She was getting rather tired of listening to him in general. If he protested her going into a full dive in the middle of his sentence, she tuned it out well. She might have been accelerating more than was strictly necessary, but she had to work off her excess venom somehow.

She zoomed towards the Earth, the shape of the car coming closer and closer. It was a sign of how absurd her comrades were that even at several dozen miles per hour, the blurs at ground level were still identifiable as the rest of the Five. But she didn't slow down.

In fact, she sped up as much as she could, making a beeline for them until the very last second. Once she was just past too close for comfort, she twisted in the air and divebombed the assembled group, kicking up fluffs of purple and green as she buzzed the top of Bushroot's head on the way down. Laughing to herself, she turned her momentum back upwards and – shifting into her normal body – made a stable three-point landing that would've made any gymnast proud.

One didn't get to be a supervillain without a certain degree of practice… or abandon.

To her irritation, neither the divebomb or the juggling act did much to fluster the android. Amstrong merely tutted quietly and stared straight ahead, as if choosing to critique her rough approach silently. For what she hoped was the last time tonight, Camille wished she could punch him. But slightly less irritating was the fact that she was now surrounded by other people who could deal with him instead.

"Hoo hoo! Look who's arrived!" Quackerjack squealed with delight upon their approach. Next to him, Bushroot was rubbing the top of his head, counting the number of fibers Camille's stunt had cost him off the top. Oneshot, meanwhile, was sitting inside the getaway car looking antsy.

Quackerjack continued to make jokes, walking up to the two new arrivals with a mirthful leer. "Look everybody, it's sssnakeskin and tin grin! Better late than early, right?" He doubled over in giggles, earning him an ambivalent look from Camille and a glare from Armstrong. He countered the android's look with a taunting expression of his own. "Lose some weight there, buddy?" He shot, poking Armstrong on his light-bulb noise.

Camille could practically feel Armstrong's displeasure. It almost made the night she just went through worth it.

"Where _were_ you?" Bushroot asked. He seemed satisfied that Camille hadn't given him too close of a haircut, and was instead staring anxiously at them. "It might have jeopardized the plan, not having you around as backup. We got lucky!"

"Though I'd say we did pretty well, still," One-Shot murmured, though nobody had much interest in talking to a guy hanging out in a car.

"WORKING." Armstrong noted simply. "I. TRUST. YOU. HAVE. OBTAINED. THE. SUBJECT?"

"Hmph," Splatter Phoenix sneered, her way of catching the android's attention. She was leaning against a tree some distance away, not particularly interested in interacting with the others. When Amrstrong mentioned the "subject" she reached behind her her back and pulled out a slightly miniaturized but still entirely functional model of the TeleConstructor. "Not my best work." She huffed. "It's derivative, uncreative and downright standardized, but sometimes a starving artist must base themselves to stay afloat."

"Right." One-Shot chimed in. "Plus it's a perfect copy! Nice work!" He grinned at Phoenix, making it unclear whether he was poking fun at her or not. Either way, she turned away with scowl.

With her thoroughly irritated, One-Shot turned to the new arrivals. "Still, the whole thing would've gone a lot smoother with a little backup. That Gizmoduck's no iron glove."

"I agree," Bushroot said. He opened his mouth again, clearly wanting to say more, but One-Shot cut him off.

"Whaddaya mean?" The chimp shot at him. "You didn't even fight!"

Seeing a chance to rib one of his cohorts, Quackerjack jumped to One-Shot's side. "That's right! You spent the whole time hiding in the basement playing with your cabbage patch kids!"

"I was keeping the place locked down, and also _that's not the point!"_ Bushroot huffed. He pointed a leafy finger at Camille and Armstrong. "You two were AWOL when we might have needed you. We at least deserve an explanation."

Camille threw her hands into the air in exasperation. "It'sss a long ssstory, and I wasss unconscssiousss for a good chunk of it." She said flatly. Tossing Armstrong's head to Bushroot, she jumped atop the getaway car, reclined on her back with her hands behind her head and didn't move any further. "Asssk the tin man."

"IT. WAS. NOTHING. OF. CONSEQUENCE." He replied. Without another word on the matter, he jumped to a different subject. "I. WILL. TAKE. THE. SPOILS. TO. OUR. BENEFACTOR. NOW."

"Somehow I knew you'd s-say that, mate."

The trees behind them rustled, and the assembled villains all jumped into action before spotting the familiar frame of a certain familiar otter, followed by female duck carrying a large suitcase. Rowe was smiling – at least, as well as he could.

He was covered in scrapes, and if the fact that we was wincing in pain every few moments wasn't enough to tell a poor story, the fact that he was carrying himself with a limp surely did. Bianca Beakley, who was with him, made no effort to help.

"Rowe!" Bushroot exclaimed. Curling Armstrong's head under his arm – to the android's chagrin - he hurried over to his comrade, shoving Bianca out of the way, and started fussing over his injuries like a nanny. "Where were you? You had us worried! What the heck happened? Where's Cementhead?"

"I'm fine, by the way," Bianca muttered. Everyone ignored her.

"Long s-story," Rowe said, hissing as a wave of pain shot through him.

Quackerjack leapt beside him, and together he and Bushroot each helped carry Rowe's weight with one arm. "Hoo hoo! What a coincidence! Lots of those long stories going around."

"Let's just say that Cementhead is out, _way_ out. I'll let you in the rest when I..." He groaned, cutting himself off. "… when I get a little downtime."

"Oh, downtime!" Quackerjack snickered. "Is that what they're calling 'kicking back and whining about rugby' these days?"

Rowe shot him an unimpressed glance, before addressing the others as if he hadn't spoken. "How'd all you mates handle, anyway? We good to go?"

"Well, _I_ managed to come out of my perfectly executed part of the plan-"

"Perfectly exssecuted," Camille chuckled, without moving from her perch atop the car. "Yesss, that sssoundss accurate. Hossspitalizsse any other old ladiesss on the way here?" Everyone besides Armstrong and Bianca laughed – the shot even got Splatter Phoenix to snort a little. Quackerjack, especially, went into a laughing fit, nearly Rowe in the process.

"Oi, steady on there mate!" Rowe protested,

Bianca turned red with anger. _"-with a few new trinkets_ ,if you must know!" she finished sharply, raising her voice to drown them out. She opened her briefcase, revealing the receivers she stole from Gyro's Lab. The seemed to sparkle in the night sky

Quackerjack's laughter stopped immediately, replaced entirely with a mad, childlike excitement. He really did drop Rowe this time, as he eagerly dove over to Bianca and started poring over her haul. "Ooh-hoo! New toys! Let me have a look at those!"

She raised an eyebrow, throwing the case shut. "Oh, sure. _Now_ you're interested in well being?"

"Not yours, no!" His beak spread into a toothy, unapologetic grin. "But I'll do anything for a good toy!"

"WHAT. DRIVEL!" Armstrong declared, interrupting the banter. As he had no body at the moment, his only means of body language was rolling his eyes – and he was making good use of it. "I. TAKE. MY. LEAVE!"

The thruster in Armstrong's neck ignited – accidentally setting Bushroot on fire, not that he cared – shooting him at high speed across the clearing. Bushroot panicked and dropped Rowe on the ground, causing a distraction as Armstrong flew directly into Phoenix. Before she could react, he looped around her arm and bit down hard on the painted-TeleConstructor. His metal jaw was powerful enough to clamp the Construtor's edges together – nothing short of a crowbar would be able to remove his grip.

Without another word, were he capable of speech, Armstrong fired up his thruster again and rocketed straight up into the air, knocking Phoenix to the ground. Soon he was high and away, too far for most of the group to reach – clearly, his way of making a grand exit.

Camille opened one eye, idly watching him lift off and burn his way through the night sky. As the only one capable of readily chasing down a flying target, she looked sideways at the others and waited to see if someone would make the call for her to become a falcon or a missile or something similar.

But the core trio, whom the others had come to turn to for matters like this, made no moves against him: they simply stood there, watching. After a few moments, Camille closed her eyes again, correctly assuming that nothing further was going to happen.

Bianca did not read the room quite as well. "Uh," She said nervously, as Armstrong's dot in the sky got smaller and smaller. One-Shot, who was likewise tracking Armstrong's shrinking figure, nodded vigorously in agreement. "Shouldn't we be stopping that?"

Rowe shook his head. "Nah, let him be mate."

Splatter Phoenix rose to her feet, rubbing her head. "Clearly I have a concussion, because… _what?"_

Before she or Bianca could object further, Bushroot tried to give a follow up. He interrupted himself a couple of times by blowing on his singed leaves, but he got the others' attention well enough. "We have a good idea… well, a _pretty_ good idea... where he's going, and what this is all about. It doesn't hurt us, at least so far. So I say let him go, and take his boss' money."

Quackerjack grinned evilly. "And if that oversized action figure _does_ make a problem of himself… hoo hoo! I'd love to see him try!" He pulled out a jack in the box – one of his many party favors – and crushed it in his hand. "I ask you, why do uptight bad guys like that always underestimate us average, everyday supercriminals just because we like a little silliness in our souls?"

"Perhaps because it's puerile?" Phoenix noted. Quackerjack stuck his tongue out at her.

"Whatever it is, mate," Rowe said loudly. Bushroot had finally calmed down his burning roots, and helped pick him off the ground. "it's what we are! And, with a bit of traction…" he said, wincing, "I'd say it's working."

"Armstrong was right." Phoenix scoffed "This _is_ drivel."

"We're also your ride out of here," Bushroot replied, allowing himself a small, mischievous smile. "And speaking of which, since Armstrong will do what he will do, all in favor of _us_ doing the same and getting out of here, before Scrooge's iron plated bodyguard shows up?"

There was a collective shout of "aye"s, of varying enthusiasm. Collectively, the assembled villains filed into their getaway car – Camille still resting on top – and with Bianca at the wheel (the others being either too hurt, too crazy - or in Phoenix' case too apathetic - to drive safely) sped away into the brush.

Ten minutes later two police patrols and one irritated Gizmoduck rolled through the area, but there was not a single trace left of any motley criminal gangs, super or otherwise. The Fearsome Five had crossed out of Duckburg and flown the proverbial coop. By the end of the day, they were safely hidden within impenetrable quagmire of St. Canard's underworld. In lying low, they made themselves practically invisible – giving plenty of breathing room for them to celebrate their victory.

Luckily for Calisota's brightest city, this was the last Duckburg would see of the Fearsome Five for some time. But after a night like that one, it was not a sight that either the city nor its most powerful citizens would soon forget. And once the story started spreading to St. Canard, nobody there would be able to get it off their lips either.

The Five had made their statement exactly as they had hoped: now, Calisota was their oyster. And next time they met Darkwing Duck, they planned to do an even better job of it…

* * *

 **Epilogue**

 _Hovering In The Duckburg Skyline,_

"Let me get this straight. Of all… what… five of us, _seven_ including Scrooge and Mia, Techno and I were the only ones to actually _catch_ a bad guy?"

"I'd… rather not think about it that way."

The Thunderquack was currently "parked" in midair, amidst the bright midday Duckburg skyline. Techno, Launchpad, Darkwing and Crimson sat at the ready, but mostly passed the time milling over the quagmire of the previous day. Or where Crimson was concerned – to Darkwing's chagrin - finding grim enjoyment in the fact that she and her sidekick were the only ones to come out of it ahead.

"I'm just saying," she grinned cheekily. "Either they're getting smarter or you guys are getting worse at this."

"Well, we shouldn't forget that Cementhead was probably at the Manor _with_ someone else." Techno pointed out. He was fiddling with his readout, analyzing newspaper readings of the various crimes they dealt with the day before. "And the only reason we caught him was because they were apparently fighting."

"Not now, Tech," she said, smirking widely enough for the others to know she wasn't being serious. "I'm trying to gloat here."

Techno ignored her. "Process of eliminations puts good money on that other person being Rowe. Cementhead must have turned on him."

"Probably." Darkwing said lightly, having evidently figured this out on his own. "How's the mansion?"

"Oh, not bad," Launchpad said, as unfazed and cheerful as ever. "Mr. McD turned the whole rebuilding effort into some kinda write-off, don't ask me how. But it's coming along great. It's too bad about Mrs. Beakley and Webby being put up in a hotel, but they don't mind. Best penthouses in Duckburg!"

"If my notoriously skinflinted boss were treating me to an all expenses paid vacation at one of Duckburg's premiere hotels, I wouldn't mind either." Darkwing quipped. "Still, Cementhead has a lot to answer for."

"Hopefully we can get something solid from him," said Crimson.

"Heh. You'd figure _everything_ would be solid with that guy."

The whole group groaned. "A million laughs, Launchpad." Darkwing grunted.

Crimson sighed. "It's still the only clear win in what felt like a big stalemate."

"You're right." Techno said, echoing her disappointment. "We stop them from taking the TeleConstructor, but they get away with the blueprints and bring them to life. We stop them from breaking into the Money Bin, but Armstrong's _head_ gets off with smuggled secrets. Not to mention Bianca Beakley swiping a suitcase full of inventions from Gyro Gearloose's lab by sheer chance." "Maybe they really _are_ getting smarter."

Crimson put a hand to her chin, mulling over the entire situation. "I just wish I knew what was so important that Armstrong literally _blew himself up_ in order to steal it."

Darkwing shuffled slightly, but didn't respond. In his stead, Techno picked up the silence.

"It seemed private," he noted. "Scrooge obviously knows what it is, and the triplets seem to have found out, but none of them seem interested in talking about it. So I say we let them be. If it's important, they'll tell us"

The others nodded solemnly, all feeling downcast at the thought of the rift this disaster had created between the triplets and their uncle. They still hadn't had a full conversation since the first argument, and though the fallout from this was still unfolding, it was sad to see such a break form in a strong family from the outside in.

"Besides," Crimson said, concluding the thought. "We know where that trail leads anyway. Or at least, Scrooge did." She looked out the window, where Scrooge was currently "taking care" of the problem, in his words. "We can't put the family back together, but we can be here in case he needs us."

"I just wish we could be in there with him," Launchpad said, doing the same. He was more anxious than anybody at this turn of events, and nobody blamed him. "This isn't the kind of threat you want to be taking on alone."

"No." Darkwing finally replied. Rather than join them, he moved to help Techno check the Thunderquack's systems, and together they made sure they were keeping inside of their adversary's blind spot – which wasn't so easy when maneuvering around a skyscraper. It was one of the tallest and most magnificent buildings in Duckburg's skyline: signs on both sides of the building showed "Glomgold Industries" in large, gold letters. They were hanging around the back, obscured from the inside by the rear sign, and too high for anybody on the ground to notice. "That old salt knows his stuff. In this ring, we'd just be in his way."

"Why do I get the feeling this is all just the start of something bad," Crimson said, a frown tipping at her beak.

Darkwing chuckled, but the look on his face – and what he was feeling – were much the same. "Makes sense to me. Your instincts always _were_ good, dear…"

* * *

 _Glomgold's Luxury Office,_

Scrooge couldn't remember the last time he had been inside Flintheart Glomgold's office. He _had_ been here before on occasion, of course: when Glomgold had gotten the better of him in some crooked deal, mostly, or when his rival was being particularly obtuse and wouldn't take a simple phone call. But it wasn't often, and Glomgold hadn't been so much an issue that he had to appear here in person in some time. Perhaps, in retrospect, that should have made him more suspicious.

Flintheart himself, on the other hand, was often seen dropping by Scrooge's mansion, pushing past his secretary at the Bin or " _accidentally_ " ramming into him at the country club for the sake of ranting insults, swearing payback and/or trying to recoup some lost with more of his shifty business – or all three at once.

This difference was a point of pride for Scrooge, at least in regards to the two ducks' relationship. Power, after all, was in making others come to you.

So he didn't like what being here implied about him now.

Flintheart was clearly enjoying this. He hadn't said anything more suspicious than usual yet, which was itself suspicious – Flintheart was a gloater – but even without it, Scrooge could tell just walking through the door that Glomgold was their duck. He was positively giddy, bobbing up and down on his feet just walking around the desk to give Scrooge a "friendly" handshake. Whenever he looked at Scrooge, he was unable to hide the wicked grin on his face.

Scrooge wanted to hit him with his cane, but that sort of thing would have to wait for a little while. This was a tenuous situation.

"So what brings ye to me office, McDuck?" Glomgold said flippantly, but Scrooge knew better. "Especially since yeh've got yer own problems with yer prototype, I hear."

"Ahnd how exactly did ye figure that out?" Scrooge replied. It was an easy jab to sidestep, but sometimes you had to start easy. "Ah don't believe it's in the news yet."

As he expected, Glomgold coasted past the question. "Please. Word travels fast, McDuck. Especially when it's about you!"

Scrooge frowned. He knew that all too well, and he didn't like the way Glomgold brought it up. Especially given what this conversation was really going to be about.

But he remained silent on the matter, which Glomgold took as an invitation to keep talking – much to Scrooge's displeasure.

"How're yer nephews taking it, then? Not too broken up by the whole traumatic affair, ah hope?"

This was a very bizarre question from someone who had tried to traumatize if not outright kill the triplets on multiple occasions, but if there was one thing Scrooge understood about his rival it was that he wasn't just satisfied with winning. Glomgold needed to _know_ he won, and by how much, and for others to know it as well. He wanted to hear just how badly his scheme had shaken the McDuck family, and Scrooge wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

"They've gotten a lot to think about," Scrooge replied, with a steely glare. "But the boys are stronger than they look."

Glomgold coughed awkwardly and looked away. "Aye, ahm sure," he muttered, giving Scrooge a small amount of pleasure. This was a "small victories" kind of situation.

"But ah suppose yer more concerned about yer prospects anyhow," Glomgold continued, with a falsely airy tone. Again, Scrooge wasn't surprised at his tactlessness. The ability to put people above profit – at least most times, he thought uncomfortably – had always separated the two.

"My prospects?" Scrooge asked, playing dumb. He was getting tired of Glomgold's gloating game, but he could play along for now. "Why, whatever do yeh mean Flinty?"

"It's just a shame is all, Scroogey," Glomgold said, though the wide grin over his coffee undercut his supposed concern. "With those TeleConstructor plans out in the world, won't be long before some enterprising folks start… er… 'appropriating' 'em. Course, it'd take a smart one te get past yer patents, but all said and done that's the easy part."

"Ah'm sure it is, Flinty," Scrooge said evenly, deciding to keep his choicest thoughts to himself. _Brag all ye want, ye old goat. Talk is one thing, action is another._

Glomgold continued, seemingly oblivious to Scrooge's increasing glare. "Might even jeopardize yer stake in St. Canard's reconstruction." He looked aside, chuckling to himself. "Heh heh... all those billions of dollars in revenue, all that influence, all by the wayside. Ye must feel like a beggar's shoe right about now!" Now he was laughing in earnest – a wild, hacking guffaw that wasn't diminished at all by his age.

"Ahm sure some are planning te swoop in and steal me spot _already,"_ Scrooge said pointedly.

"Of course, McDuck. After all, it's a whole city ripe for the taking! Can ye really blame us?"

Something in Scrooge clicked. He'd had enough dancing: the game was over. His reply was cold and direct. "Not all of yeh. Just one."

Glomgold raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Lets cut to the chase, Flinty. Ah know yer're the one behind all of this." Scrooge rose from his seat, finger pointing dramatically into Glomgold's face – but his rival didn't say a word. Glomgold just sat there, smirking. "Ye hired the Five, ye put them up to attacking me business, me home and me Bin. And _yer_ the one out to steal me company's design. Least ye could do is stop beatin' around the bush about it."

"Oho! That's tall talk, Scroogey!" Glomgold laughed. "And what, I dare ye, makes ye think I had anything to do with it? Go on, wow me with yer big ideas!"

"Armstrong, fer one."

Glomgold's smile faltered, just for a second. "Who?" He asked coyly. He was suddenly quite interested in the state of his fingertips.

"Ye know darn well who, because ye know that _I_ know that the plans for that project went to you when I took Gyro off it – including all the old materials. Like, say, Armstrong's scraps." "Or have ye forgotten the whole Metal Men debacle?"

"I hoped te forget it," Glomgold shuddered. The Beagle Boys treating his company's resources like superweapons had made a bad day for all of them. He shook the thought out of his head, his smile becoming more and more fake. "But so what? Ah had some old plans. Ah'm afraid that doesn't make me some kind o' criminal ringleader."

"And, oh… there's the fact that after attacking me Armstrong went straight after some sensitive information that only a select few people know about!" Scrooge said, his anger simmering but no less righteous. "That won't be in the news, but I'm guessing ye knew about it already."

"Oh?"

"Aye." Scrooge replied. He leaned into Glomgold's face, his eyes aglow with mystery. "Things from my past, which ahm not too proud of. Thing ye wouldn't know even existed unless yeh've been following my story fer some time. And we've known each other fer an age. How long've ye been obsessed with me again, Flinty?"

Glomgold's expression bulged, and this time he really did drop his smile. "Very funny, McDuck. But ye might remember that even before ah lost my Metal Men to the Beagle Boys, ye lost yer Bin to Armstrong. He was in yer system. He could've easily found info about yer little enterprise in Africa then."

"Ah never said it was in Africa," Scrooge said bluntly.

Glomgold paused. They both knew he had been caught out, but he waved his hand as if it were nothing anyway. Appearances were never fully dropped in this ring. "Feh! Don't insult me, McDuck," he leaned back, seemingly unaffected. "Besides, from the sound of it if ah'd be focused less on blame and more on damage control if ah were you."

Now it was Scrooge's turn to say "Oh?"

"Ahm just saying," Glomgold went on, absentmindedly rubbing his fingertips. "That's the kind o' secret that might cost ye a pretty penny… maybe even more than that… if it comes out. You best be careful."

"Is that seriously yer play?" Scrooge said incredulously. "Steal me Constructor, make me look like a fool, then let my worst come to light and see if ye can get me business to fall into the red?"

Glomgold just stared at him, but the duck's wicked smile was returning even though he was clearly found out. "Ahm just a duck with honest advice, who loves free enterprise. Perhaps ye should take it easy, ease off the reconstruction project. Let someone else get a shot while you… protect yourself."

 _So, this whole time it's been about getting a piece of St. Canard._ Scrooge thought, grumbling to himself at the sheer pettiness of it. _Never change, Flintheart._

"An interesting idea, Flinty but… no."

Glomgold's smirk stopped growing. "No?"

Scrooge nodded, and threw up a thumbs down for emphasis. "Tough for you, Glomgold, but ye forgot something. Several somethings actually."

"Ah see," came the cautious but still arrogant reply. "And _what_ am ah supposed to have forgotten, if ye're so smart?"

"Fer one, ye forgeot SHUSH," said Scrooge. "Ahm not the only one who can follow a trail. They know ye're up to something too, and they'll be on yer tail."

"And what if ah prove ah wasn't involved, what then ye old codger?"

"Aye, curse me kilt, then ah hope whoever _did_ hire the Five is ready to look over their shoulder every time SHUSH comes near one of those costumed loonies." Flintheart's eyes widened, and Scrooge knew he hit paydirt. He suspected that Glomgold had become so used to doing his dirty work himself over the years that he was unused to the idea of loose ends. "I suppose that mystery party could try and 'take care' of them, but that's probably more trouble than it's worth. Rubbish idea if ye ask me."

It was another easy gambit when dealing with Glomgold, letting the 'idle suggestion' hang. Both McDuck and Glomgold were, to put it lightly, very powerful men. They didn't get that way by being stupid. And picking a fight one didn't need to with supervillains, even if they could ultimately win, was never cost effective. And with accusations Glomgold had to deal with, it would've likely led to legal suicide – if he moved against the Five, whatever happened it would only make him look worse to those whose eyes he wanted to avoid.

Scrooge knew Glomgold was smart enough to realize this, but he wasn't quite sure if he was humble enough to accept it without prodding. Especially since accepting that he couldn't take care of the Five meant stepping away from the loaded weapon he had pointed at Scrooge this very minute.

Luckily, Scrooge rarely left this sort of thing to chance. "But that wasn't the most important thing." All of a sudden, he turned his tone intense, and leaned forward into his seat to give Glomgold a sharp, searing glare. "Deny all ye want Flinty. I don't care. Cause ye forgot who ah am. Smarter than the smarties, and _tougher than the toughies,_ remember? If ye want a fight, I'll give it to ye."

Glomgold laughed again. "We'll see how tough ye are when the time comes, McDuck."

"Then do it, if you're so confident! Try te bring me down. But if ye do, I'll put every penny ah can spare into making everyone knows about ye're ties with the Five, and a million other far worse crimes ah've been kind enough not to press over the years."

Glomgold's laugh died with a sputtering cough, and he nearly fell out of his chair. This was unheard of: he and Scrooge had long had an unspoken agreement about some of the… unsavory…. things they – mostly Glomgold – had done during their rivalry. Scrooge had always been too proud and too unaffected to pursue Glomgold for all the times he tried to destroy, usurp or even murder his way into being richest duck in the world before. But this was evidently a step too far. "Ye wouldn't!" He gasped. "That'd just take us _both_ down."

"Ahm fine with that! Ye see, ah've got the guts to build myself back up from nothing! I've done it before, more than once if you'll recall. And I'll do it again, by thunder! What about _you,_ Flinty! Do _you_ have what it takes to lose it all?"

Glomgold went silent for a long time. He stared fixedly at an unimportant spot on his wall, not responding to anything. This was clearly not how he had wanted this meeting to go.

After a short while, he spoke again. When he did it was still as casual as ever, but Scrooge noted the fury in his eyes with great satisfaction. "St. Canard really is too much city to be cost effective for one company anyway. I was more interested in making the whole thing open market." His lip curled. "In the interest of being 'fair,' ye understand."

He gestured for Scrooge to sit back down, but Scrooge stayed put. "You consider a whole city and millions of people 'open market?'"

"Why not? The city was practically giving out those reconstruction contracts. Companies are looking for support. The whole place is one big bowl of grandma's haggis. Ripe for the picking."

"So that's what this is going to be, eh?" Scrooge sighed. "I drop the exclusive contract but forget yer little theft, you drop the blackmail and back off from me, and we turn this into race to see who can own a whole city first?"

"If ye want to put it that way. Frankly, I don't think you're in the running." His casuasl tone dropped, and he spoke frankly for the first time. "… but that's as far as I'm willing to give you branch. So let's settle this without getting ugly, shall we?"

Scrooge thought to himself for a moment. It wasn't a perfect resolution by any means. It was hardly a resolution at all. It left Glomgold in control of dangerous information, with only the threat of mutually assured destruction to hold him back, and gave him free rein to spread his insidious tentacles into St. Canard. But it was still a compromise, which made it infinitely better than the alternative.

At least in this case he could still match Glomgold foot for foot for the time being. As much as he knew he could bounce back from catastrophe, having to do so was always the worst case scenario.

He held out his hand and shook Glomgold's – a practice with, for the two of them, was more like wrestling. "Very well Flintheart. A pleasure doing business with you." He said, giving a ferocious smile.

Glomgold reciprocated, showing more teeth than actual happiness. "And you, Scroogey."

It was a "term of affection,' which meant it sounded like a friendly insult but was actually completely serious. And in this case, it meant "this isn't over." Scrooge took it to heart as he left Glomgold's office, but barely used a moment to look back. This crisis would keep for the time being, so now he had others to worry about.

Before he left, Glomgold caught him with one last word. He was staring at him from his desk, daggers in his eyes. "I'll be seein' ya next time, ye old goat!"

Scrooge turned back to match him glare for glare, then made his leave. "Same to you, Flintheart. Same to you..."

* * *

 _Meanwhile, Duckburg Piers,_

Across town, underneath the picturesque sunshiney afternoon that Duckburg Piers always seemed to be host to, three young ducks gathered by the docks – feeling far less sunny than the beautiful day around them seemed to want.

Huey and Dewey were together, as if on one side of a crack. A small cargo ship was floating in the dock in before them. A brightly colored rooster darted back and forth on its deck with a worn looking clipboard, performing a simple checklist.

Huey and Dewey glanced back at rooster on occasion, but mostly kept their eyes on the duck between them and the ship. Louie stood there alone. A suitcase hung idly on his wrist.

"I wish you wouldn't do this, Lou," Dewey said. It wasn't the first time he had said so since Louie had told them of his plans.

Louie sighed. "I know. But I have to. I can't stay here," he said, more serenely than he felt.

Huey's lip curled involuntarily. "Does Uncle Scrooge even know you're leaving?"

"I told him last night."

Huey frowned at Louie's blunt answer. Louie understood this well – he knew his brother. He understood how much Huey needed to take control of situations that he felt were going downhill. But he couldn't do that this time, and it was distressing him.

"You told him," Huey tried again. He almost sounded like he was pleading. "But you didn't talk about-"

Louie politely cut him off. "I don't really have anything more to say about that." He explained. "At least, not to him. Not… yet."

Dewey stepped forward. "Look, bro. What we found out, it was bad! But you _know_ Uncle Scrooge. He's not always kind, but he _does_ try to do what's right. How else would he be that way, except by…" He paused, mulling over his words. "… by regretting things."

Louie turned away. "I know, Dew. I do, but… it's not just that. It shook me up, the whole thing." "Uncle Scrooge always taught us about being honorable in ambition, always told us the story of how he built himself up and did it square. Yet even he has awful things in his past."

"But that's-"

Louie cut over again. "It's not about making up for it. It's just… if someone like Uncle Scrooge has something like that in his past, what hope is there for us? We're supposed to follow in his footsteps! That's what everyone always says, that we're supposed to be even _better!_ But when's _our_ horrible mistake coming? What are we going to regret?"

"We don't have to make the same mistakes."

Louie turned to his second brother, not slowing down a bit. "What if we _do?_ What if we can't be Uncle Scrooge's heirs without having to become ruthless. How do we keep ourselves from becoming like…" He steeled himself. "…like Glomgold?"

No matter their feelings, Huey and Dewey both put their arms on their brothers shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "We'll _never_ be like Glomgold." They said together.

"Think about it, Lou. We've always had each other to check our flaws." Dewey continued, speaking forcefully. "And we'll never lose what makes us who we are if we can hold onto each other!"

"We've never been apart, either." Huey said, who on the other hand was noticeably more quiet and soft than usual. "Not… not like this. We owe it to ourselves to figure this out, together."

"Probably," Louie replied. "But I need to figure out myself first." He turned away slightly, looking at the ground. "Everyone's always talking about how I don't know what I want. I've disappointed you both so much…"

"Never, bro."

"I gave you a hard time, but I didn't mean-"

Louie put a hand up, both to show that he didn't blame them and to make them let him speak. "I'm just saying, maybe it's time I actually _found_ what I want."

His brothers fell silent for a long moment. Neither felt very willing to argue against a personal mission like that, much as they wanted to deep down.

"… we really can't talk you out of this, can we?" Dewey said sadly.

Louie bowed his head. "No, bro. I don't think so."

Huey looked like he had more to say, but instead he settled for putting his hand out. "Stay safe. The whole triplet thing we've got going doesn't work if there's only two of us."

"Don't worry about that." Louie grinned. "Our honorary Uncle has what is supposedly the best passenger liner in the business." He gestured to the beat-up old trawler behind him. Despite the harbor's flawlessly still water, the ship still managed to bob dramatically from side to side. Seemingly noticing them staring at his pride and joy, the rooster – apparently both captain and sole crewman – waved idly at them. "… provided you don't mind the smell of horse manure and a little violent seasickness."

"Loooouis!" The rooster shouted, as if on cue. "If you really want to come, then we must shove off soon-ish, not later-ish!"

"Coming, Uncle Panchito!" Louie shouted back. He turned to his brothers, suddenly looking a lot gloomier. "I… I guess this is it. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, guys."

"Just promise me you'll keep a cool head," said Huey.

"And at least _try_ not to do anything stupid," said Dewey.

"I'll keep those in mind…" Louie replied, putting his arms out. The three brothers dove into each other's

"Just come back bro." Huey said, slightly choked up. Tears were falling down his face, same as the other two, but the brothers were all too good to mention it. "You've got family, _lots_ of family, who are gonna miss you."

Louie laughed. "Hopefully, I'll come back having become an even better Duck – with a capital D – than ever before."

"Stranger things have happened." Dewey said. "But not many…"

They all laughed together for the last time in a long time. Then Louie picked up his suitcase and boarded the ship, loudly complaining about the smell of livestock for his brothers' benefit. Their Uncle Panchito ignored him as he pulled the ship out of the dock, then both moved to the deck and waved back the two remaining brothers for as long as was strictly healthy for a ship to run without someone at the helm.

Huey and Dewey watched them shrink away until the ship disappeared over the horizon. Then, they stood there together for a while, neither feeling much up to leaving, or talking, or doing much of anything at all. It wasn't until an hour later that the duo of triplets, sighing all the while, turned and disappeared back into the bustling Duckburg streets…

* * *

 _St. Canard, Underneath the Fearsome Dive,_

Meanwhile in St. Canard, there were those having a much happier day. Sure, the entirety of two cities were looking for them and they probably wouldn't to go to the grocery store for a while, but the Fearsome Five were ecstatic and reveling in it all the same.

Crooks from all over both cities were approaching their hideouts just to shake their hands. Bigtime Beagle even dropped off a cake made special by his mother at the Fersome Dive – somehow managing to sneak it past the army of cops wandering around the vicinity. They had to inspect it thoroughly for booby traps, of course, but it was the thought that counted. Drink flew, feasts were bought, villainous party favors were brought out (Pin the Tail on the Innocent Bystander being a person favorite of Quackerjack's), and the Five's coming back party didn't come to a stop for three days.

At the end of it, the members of the Five – minus Rowe and Cementhead - all sat together at a big table. They were far underneath the Fearsome Dive, closed off by so many hidden passageways that even Darkwing would be thrown off the trail. Negaduck had picked this spot back well when it was his hideout: there were tunnels leading all the way down to the sewer, so manhunt or not they were free to leave as they pleased.

Bushroot lifted his glass – purified water, in his case – to his comrades. "So this is what victory feels like."

"Like selling out one's artistic integrity to copy/paste crude, industrialized chaff?" Splatter Phoenix grumbled, but she lifted her glass along with the rest of them.

"Oh, suck it up. So you had to trace _one_ blueprint!" Bianca Beakley scoffed. Under her mop of hair, they could see one of Phoenix' eyes glaring at her. "There will be tons of opportunities for you to paint yourself a mural or something. Especially now that we've gotten paid."

She gestured to the stack of briefcases full of cash that their employer had just delivered to their door. There was no sign of Armstrong having returned, but the briefcases came with assurances that their supposed last member was simply having repairs done.

"When do we split that up, anyhow?" One-Shot said, sizing up the pile.

"After I get back, mate!" Said Rowe, walking up to the table with a slight limp. "At least, I hope!"

As he was the only one of them technically not identified during the job, he was volunteered to be the one to go up to the actual club and check on proceedings every once in a while. The group had graciously asked Hammerhead Hannigan to watch the club in their absence – "asked" meaning "bribed with a gigantic diamond" in this case – but none of them really trusted the goat's competence to do things on his own.

"So how did it go? Do the cops really buy the story we fed Hannigan about us flying the coop?"

"They were a bit skeptical at first, but after a while they bought it hook, line and stinker! Not to mention, did a little eavesdropping of my own with the help of Beakley's thingamajigs." He tossed a box at her, presumably full of Gearloose's recording devices. "Thanks, mate."

Bianca scowled as she caught them. "How dare you! You didn't even ask!"

Ignoring her, Rowe finally sat down with the others and continued his story. "I did a little bugging in a certain corporate office. Managed to catch a few conversations between a certain tin-plated double agent and his employer. Mostly they were laughing their tail-feathers off about having 'played us for fools.'"

"Laughing?" Bianca scoffed, looking affronted. "At _us?_ After what we just pulled?"

"Actually…" Bushroot said slowly, gesturing for Bianca to calm down. To the others' surprise she listened, but was still scowling. "I think that works out pretty well."

Rowe nodded his agreement. "That's right, mate. Armstrong's totally thinks we're in the dark about who he's really working for."

"And too greedy to ask questions," Bushroot concluded. "Which means our 'mystery employer' will think we're still the perfect patsies."

"Ha!" Quackerjack leaned back in his seat. "Let Glomgold try and buy up the city for now. If he crosses the line, we got his number."

"That does make sense." One-Shot said. "Still kinda want to throw a safe through that robot's head, though."

"Css'est la vie." Camille said, shrugging. "Nexsst time."

"I suppose there's a time to run a story and a time to keep it in the pipe," Bianca added, now looking rather satisfied. "I guess as bosses you lot aren't so incompetent after all."

"You better believe it, Beavis!" Quackerjack laughed.

Bushroot was more reserved about the sudden, if contradictory, praise. "Er… thanks. I think…"

Rowe, on the other hand, looked outright offended. "Quit calling us 'boss,' mate."

Bianca smirked. "Quit calling us 'mate,' _boss."_

The two both stood up and leaned into each other's faces, snarling furiously. Around the table the other villains – minus Bushroot, who merely rolled his eyes – started hooting and hollering at the possibility of a fight breaking out: infighting – as it were – being the primary way villain teams communicate.

Bushroot looked like he wanted to force them back to their seats, but it was _Quackerjack,_ oddly enough, who broke it up before it got to that point.

"Let the wackiest among us show the most reason!" He declared suddenly, and he jumped to his feet and stood on top of his chair. The others all froze, looking at him in confusion. "Aren't we still left with the problem of what to do with the plus-size action figure when he gets back?"

Rowe and Bianca slipped back down. It was true – knowing about Glomgold and Armstrong was only half the battle: it wasn't going to fix the issues of their presence.

"Well…" Bushroot winced, rubbing the back of his head. "He's still technically a member of the Fearsome Five. And if we do something to him, Glomgold might very well get wise. I say we let him stay."

Camille's gaped at him, her eyes wide. "Ssso we jussst let him keep ssspying and ssscheming?"

"Sure." Bushroot shrugged. "He's not specifically plotting against us, and he's barely ever here anyway. Besides, keep your enemies close and all that – especially when they think you're too stupid to do so."

Rowe said gruffly. "Yeah. I can go along with that, mate. I don't like it, but I get it."

"Ooh, espionage!" Quackerjack gushed, in that tone of his that made it difficult to tell whether he was being sarcastic. He plopped back down into his chair, bouncing up and down like a child. "Sounds like roaring good time."

Bianca cleared her throat. "And what about our other problem member?"

Rowe turned to her. "Cementhead? Oh, that's one's easy, mate. He's out."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, mate. Just like that," he said with an air of finality. "Let him rot. Sends a good message, don't you think?"

Around the table, the others all nodded one by one. None of them had been particularly fond of Cementhead anyway. Outright betrayal on top of that was just the dirty icing on the filthy cake.

"But he has information, remember?" Beakley paused, half-whining. It seemed as if she just wanted one of her objections to have weight.

"If you're talking about him giving us up, he can't," Bushroot explained. "He talks about _anything_ , and he loses all that underworld cred he was always bragging about. Nobody likes a snitch."

"Ha!Then _everybody_ will hate him as much as we do!" Quackerjack chuckled. "Loser!"

"Right, mate." Rowe agreed. "So let him do his bit. Maybe he breaks out, maybe he doesn't. Ban him from working with us for a while. Then a few years down the line, if he wants to so much do a job in the same city as us we make him pay through the nose!"

"Ruthless! But not _wastefully_ so." Bushroot said, feeling oddly proud. "Maybe there's hope for this 'organization' yet!"

"I'll drink to that!" Bianca cheered, raising her glass – fine wine, in her case - in a toast.

Camille smirked. "You'll drink to anything," She joked, but she raised her glass anyway – Irish moss – while ignoring Bianca's murderous look. And the others followed suit, even reluctantly in Phoenix' case.

Quackerjack's wild laughter filled the room. "Then that's that! Here's to crime!"

 _*CLINK*_

* * *

 _Duckburg, After It Was All Over_

The next time Darkwing visited Scrooge McDuck's Money Bin, it was by himself. Not that he didn't want Crimson or Techno or especially Launchpad to come say goodbye with him: it was more that he had things he wanted to say himself, that he knew he wouldn't easily get the opportunity to do later. Both he and Scrooge McDuck were ridiculously busy people.

The Bin was empty for the day, except for one occupant. The security system was still down after Armstrong's attack, and Gyro Gearloose was in his lab working on a way to get the whole system back online. Until then, Scrooge decided that he couldn't risk any of his workers' safety and instead informed them all that they were expected to work from home – with prompt and frequent status reports - until the situation was resolved.

Scrooge himself was the only person allowed inside. Though Darkwing was hoping to up that number by at least one.

He was nearly to the entranceway when his march was interrupted by the sound of mechanical whirring. Darkwing groaned, but only out of instinct. He had forgotten what – or more accurately _who –_ was operating as a primary security system for the time being.

"Hey there, hi there, ho there, Wingy!" Gizmoduck said, as glorious as ever. "Heck of a scrum the other day, wasn't it? Too bad about the louses getting away." He sighed dramatically – when he did, he put his whole body into it. "The wife and kids are never going to let me hear the end of that one."

Darkwing was noting with irritation that Gizmoduck's melodramatic overreacting was at times much like his own, at least from what Crimson would say, and thus was totally blindsided when what Gizmo had _actually_ just said finally sunk it.

"Waitaminute, _you're married?!"_

"Of course!" Gizmoduck beamed. "You didn't think I did _this_ all day, did you? I'd have the worst helmet hair known to duck-kind!"

Darkwing bit back the obligatory "you already do" comment. He liked to think he and Gizmoduck were past that kind of behavior… at least face to face.

"You should meet them someday!" Gizmoduck continued, and this was quickly getting into the 'Gizmoduck plans a family vacation' territory that Darkwing was sure he had once had a nightmare about. He tried to gesture that it wasn't necessary, but of course Gizmoduck didn't seem to notice. "I trust them with my secrets just as much as you trust your own family! And we could always use a bit more familial trust." His voice abruptly turned somber, and he looked back up at the Bin. "You never know when something might try to break it."

"Yeah…" Darkwing sighed. "A real shame about that."

Gizmoduck crossed his arms, mostly to give them something to do. "I never knew Mr. McDuck didn't tell them about it. But it makes sense. He was always so _ashamed_ of it…"

Darkwing did a double take. "You _knew?"_

"Of course!" Gizmoduck straightened, though he sounded much less confident than before. "A few years ago, Scrooge was attacked by some kind of old timey spirit. We all thought it was Magica, but when Scrooge got a good look at the thing he demanded that we all let him take care of it himself. I couldn't leave him alone, though. So I followed him. The otherd stayed back because they knew I was on it."

"It wasn't Magica. Apparently the debacle in Africa earned him some kind of 'vengeance curse,'" Gimzmoduck shivered. He wasn't used to fighting actual ghosts. "We fought it off, and along the way I heard the whole story. Sworn to secrecy, of course."

Darkwing raised an eyebrow. "And you're fine with it?" He asked, a little surprised.

"I could ask you the same question."

Darkwing paused. He _was_ fine with it, relatively speaking. How couldn't he be? He knew what it was like to do something of paramount selfishness, hurting others in the process, and was well versed in the kind of regret that dwells after such a thing.

The image of his daughter popped into his head – from before she even was his daughter - alone and in danger because of his arrogance. And of her again - far older even than she was now - nearly disappearing into the aether thanks to his thoughtless desires.

Yes, he certainly knew the price of that kind of decision, no matter how well everything turned out. As a hero he'd learned more than once that life was often as you chose to make it now, not how you lived it before. How could he fault Scrooge, who had probably learned that lesson before Darkwing was hatched, for something he had clearly dedicated himself to repenting?

"I've seen worse," he said simply. "But I'm kind of surprised _you_ had no problems with it."

"I don't _like_ it, but… look." He lifted his visor so that Darkwing could see the compassionate eyes of Fenton Crackshell. "I know Scrooge. He's abrasive as an angry goose – and I've known a few angry geese in my day – but he's a _good_ person. Before I met Scrooge McDuck, I was nothing. And not because of whatever menial job I was doing. Because of the way I thought of myself."

Fenton stared off into space, remembering. "Scrooge gave me the opportunity to do great things. He fought my ideas every step of the way, of course, but that was because he saw that potential – at least, I like to think it was. Even though I can be a bit of a loon. But now, I have a life. A family. A lucrative pop cultural career. And I've done more good for the world than I would ever have imagined. As a kid from a trailer park, that _means_ something."

He dropped the visor back down, and suddenly he was Gizmoduck again. "Scrooge _always_ made sure that potential was pointed the right way. Not just mine, but everybody's. Who knows, I could've been the Beagle Boys' accountant by now! Maybe even their bodyguard!" He chuckled at the thought. Darkwing had to admit, the idea was pretty absurd. "Whatever he did before, I have no doubt that he's a better person _now_ for having been a worse person _then."_

"Too bad the boys don't see that ."

Gizmoduck waved his hand flippantly. "They will, eventually. After all, they know him far better than I do. And I know him pretty well, I think. Why do you think I still work for him?"

"A steady paycheck?"

Gizmoduck laughed. And laughed some more - a _lot_ more than Darkwing was expecting. But then, he supposed even as sarcasm it was sort of a stupid reply. Scrooge _did_ once pay Launchpad just a single penny a mile.

By the time Gizmoduck stopped laughing, there were tears running "N-no," he stammered, still fighting down chuckles. "No, not because of that. Because he's a stand up drake!"

Darkwing chose not to let the cheesiness of that line lie, and so made no effort to hide his rolling eyes. "Oh, brother..."

"Aye, that's a mighty tall statement coming from you, Gizmaduck."

Gizmoduck jumped several feet into the air as Scrooge himself came out of the entranceway. "M-Mr. McDuck! Sorry, sir. Probably shouldn't've been having such a weighty conversation on shift. I'll just… uh…" He twiddled his thumbs, smiling nervously.

"Go back te work, perhaps?" Scrooge said, but he was smiling all the while. "Ye promised me four whole shifts fer old times sake, remember? Get goin' before we're up te our ears in Beagle Boys!"

"Right!" Gizmoduck shouted. He threw his hand into a salute and sped off to continue his formation, shouting back over his shoulder. "Remember my invitation, Wingy!"

Darkwing watched him zip away, a confused grimace on his face. He never would be able to figure that guy out, but he thought he might be getting close.

"I think you're the only person he's afraid of." He glanced at Scrooge, who laughed.

"That's because yeh've never met his mother."

Darkwing stared at him – he had no context for the inside joke. The awkward silence dragged on about a moment longer than either of them were comfortable with.

"Well?" Scrooge huffed. "Ye wanted te talk to me, yes? Get on with it?"

Darkwing chuckled. "Well, I guess wanted to say what he just said," he jerked his head in Gizmoduck's direction. "I get what happened. I really do. And I wanted you to know that if you need me to find Louie, I-"

Scrooge silenced him with a glare. "Ah don't need reminding of me failures or me successes. Ah've had a great many of both, and ah can remember each and every one without any schmaltzy sentiment." Darkwing cringed, but Scrooge quickly softened once his point was made. "But ah appreciate it none the less. And ah know ye could probably find me wayward nephew straight away, but ah wouldn't do that to the boy. He needs this. He's needed this for a long time. It's just a shame he had te realize it like this."

"Yeah…"

Another silence. For two ducks known for always speaking their mind regardless of objection, they were being awfully quiet.

Darkwing broke the silence. "So, Glomgold's spreading his tentacles into St. Canard, eh?" He said. Even if he didn't have inside information, news of the two businessmen's deal – omitting the underhanded parts, of course – was already on all the major outlets.

"Aye." Scrooge said, a serious look in his eye. "And ah apologize fer that. Don't underestimate him, is all ah can say. He'll be a thorn in yer side before long."

"Then let's make sure we sting him right back."

Scrooge tilted his head. "What was that?"

"That's the other reason I came." Darkwing stood straighter, suddenly looking very businesslike. "Glomgold has allies of his own inside St. Canard, and that strikes me as unfair. So I say, let's take him and the Five down together." He extended his hand, smirking dangerously.

Scrooge laughed, inspecting the offer. "Weaning yourself off of SHUSH, eh?"

"Eh…" Darkwing's stance faltered, only briefly. "Only a small amount, for the time being. It's a complicated relationship."

"Ahm, sure." Scrooge said. He nodded, the old McDuck fire burning in his eyes. "Alright then, Masked Mallard – I originated that name, ye know, ye owe me royalties." Darkwing chuckled, but he wasn't sure if he was joking. "Ah'll be darned if I'll let Glomgold as his way. Let's give that old bandit a run fer his money!"

He took Darkwing's hand and shook it – not just to ensure Glomgold was kept at bay, but so that Louie, wherever he would gone, as well as Huey and Dewey could come to Duckburg and find an Uncle they could always be proud of.

Darkwing grinned, full of the excitement that came with getting dangerous. That said, there was also a little bit of nervousness in the mix there. The future was going to be tough in all the right ways, and for the life of him he didn't know why, but he had the strangest feeling that his family was about to get a lot bigger…

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And that concludes our first grand tale! In which everybody grabs a bit of victory and a bit of defeat, and the worldo of our heroes and villains spins on. Seems like all our villains needed was a chance to get out of Negaduck's thumb. And a few backup plans...

Fun fact: if the scene where the Five throw the party for Darkwing inspired the first half of the story, the scene where Scrooge matches wits with Glomgold was definitely the inspiration for the tail end. This isn't your modern day, incompetent Glomgold we're dealing with.

An speaking of facts, the Duck reference of the day: Scrooge's backstory here is straight from the Duck comics. He really did once wipe out a village to get ahold of their land: in the early comics it was seen as no big deal, but later tellings of the story establish it as one of the things he 's done that he has regretted the most. A perfect thing to disillusion. The story Gizmoduck tells about the curse is from the comics as well.

And that's the end... for now. Is this all? What will our next adventure be? There's no preview for you this time! You'll just have to wait and see, next time on Retake Five!


	5. Thieves Paradise: Invitations

**Disclaimer: **This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Thieves' Paradise Pt. 1 - Invitations**

* * *

 _St. Canard, The Bad Part of Town:_

In the months following their successful raining upon Scrooge McDuck's proverbial parade, the Fearsome Five had more than succeeded in their promise to lay low. There had been no grossly negligent spending of their ill-gotten spoils, no outrageous crime sprees to take advantage of their momentum, and overall barely a peep out of the group in general – be it negligent, outrageous or gross.

Known members of the group, particularly the ones seen in Duckburg, were nowhere to be found. They were restraining themselves, which was not an easy task for supervillains. Particularly not _this_ group of supervillains: Quackerjack alone nearly blew their cover six times.

The Fearsome Dive, their not-at-all-subtle nightclub hideout, had been thoroughly searched by law enforcement agencies from at least four different jurisdictions, including SHUSH and the DIA. But even those investigators who had been smart enough to check the area _beneath_ the club missed the vast stretches of hidden tunnel that the Five were using as their real lair.

Negaduck's secret tunnels even connected to the old sewer system, which connected to the _newer_ sewer system, which meant they could go all over the city without being seen. And whenever someone got close, they would simply move to a different part of the network, then move back once the heat was off.

Eventually, the police had to give up, and the core members of the Five were finally able to see the light of day. Or at least, see the inside of the club again. The place was still being watched from the outside, but the Five weren't stupid enough to waltz out the front door and get themselves caught now.

Or at least, those who _were_ stupid enough were given strict instructions not to be.

Mostly, they spent their days lounging around the club, enjoying the fruits of positive cash flow, and brainstorming subpar ideas for their next big score. At night, the club was open to the public and the wanted members dipped back underground, occasionally rejoining the crowds in disguise. The publicity from their latest nefarious deed was bringing in the tourists in droves: everyone wanted to go to the club that was supposedly owned by the supercriminals who beat Scrooge McDuck.

Which probably made the cops even more furious, but if you thought that bothered the Five at all you didn't know them very well.

This particular morning of their post-victory party train found most of them headache ridden and draped over the club's colorful furniture, groaning heavily. Even Quackerjack was wiped out, albeit while hanging lazily from a ceiling light.

This debauched scene was interrupted by a knock on the front door. An odd thing to be hearing in a club, which of all things had an intercom at the very least for unsolicited entry, but this visitor was clearly not interested in subtlety or normal means. In fact, he kept pounding on the door long after it was strictly necessary.

Their guard was currently arraigned for petty theft, so Bianca Beakley ended up closest to the door (the bar being near the entrance, naturally), so she - hair mussed and eyes red – reluctantly trudged to the door with only a minimum of fuss, which is to say that only a handful of threats and no actual bodily injuries were exchanged this time.

Just before opening, she took a single look at the exterior camera… and immediately stopped. This, she decided, was too unfair of a headache for early morning. But if she didn't do it, someone less tactful – like Quackerjack – might…

"Back entrance, stupid!" She screeched, waking everybody else in the room up.

"Wuzsssgoinon?" Camille the Chameleon – who had been lazily half-disguised as a rat – popped up from under one of the tables. Hammerhead Hannigan, who had been tending the bar last night and simply never left, raised his head, and then promptly lowered it again.

"Some freak is at the door, and I want to be on record as saying I'm too good for this," Beakley droned. "Oh, wait. I'm sorry." She added, shooting a smirking at Camille. "Was that an insult to freaks?"

"Sssay that again," Camille growled, clenching her fists.

Beakley laughed haughtily, then winced as the sound made her head hurt. "I would, but I don't have the time or the patience."

"Good morning everyone!" Came a cheerful shout from the staircase that led below. Beakley groaned louder, clutching her temple as Bushroot and Rowe strode in – the former looking way-too-happy for the hour of day, and the latter looking like he wished he slept on the opposite side of the planet.

Ever since he 'acquired' a set of special high-powered sunlamps to sleep under in the tunnels, Bushroot had become the villain's worst fear: a morning person. Far from the sullen, dour fellow he usually was, in the first few ours of the day, at least, Bushroot had a spring in his step and chipper energy to his voice.

They nearly all hated it, of course.

"What a wonderful day, even without direct sunlight! Wouldn't you all say?" Bushroot said brightly. "Doesn't the day just feel new again?"

He said this all very loudly, and everyone in the room hissed. Rowe – having had to spend the last hour or so with him – sighed in a long-suffering way.

Quackerjack chose this moment to fall from the ceiling. Whether he had been awake or not the whole time was unclear, but on the plus side he nearly hit Bushroot on the way down. "Psh, the day's as old as a vintage GI Schmoe, Joe!"

"Oh, come on fellas." Bushroot shrugged. "Just cause we're on the wrong side of the law, that doesn't mean-"

"Silence!" Beakley shouted suddenly, clutching her pounding head. The distracting side conversation stopped short before it could begin."There's someone at the door! The _back_ door." She said pointedly, gesturing to the rear. "And before you _all_ volunteer, I'm getting it this time! Just thought you should know." Sneering, she wandered towards the exit fully expecting at least a few of them to follow out of protocol, or curiosity. Rowe, seemingly wanting to get away from Bushroot as well, was the first to do so.

Meanwhile, Camille – the only one not turned off by incessant cheer, for obvious reasons - sidled up to Bushroot and leaned into his ear. "You are sssuch a wonderful morning person, my sssweet flower!"

Bushroot grimaced, no longer quite so chipper. "Please don't call me that." He said awkwardly, before practically running off to joining the others, followed by a cackling Quackerjack.

Left behind, Camille just shrugged. A minute later, a tired rat crawled back under one of the chairs and resumed its nap.

The unlike the star studded and very visible front entryway, the Fearsome Dive's "back entrance" was cleverly placed under an indent and in a small alcove, away from most prying eyes or - more to the point – watching authorities.

Beakley had known their guest wasn't the kind to take at the front entrance just from looking at them. He was a wiry bird, and rather tall, but what drew the eye was the long leather jacket covered in chains. Or perhaps it was the black gloves and combat boots, or the bicorn with the single red and yellow pin on the front. Or the baseball bat with about a dozen nails driven through it tied to his back.

Or, better yet, the striking black gas mask that covered his entire face, leaving his features a complete unknown and reducing his breathing to a dark rasp. It was probably the whole package, really.

Either way, nothing about the guy seemed particularly lawful. That said, he did dutifully circle around the back of the building without a fuss. When he made it into the alcove, Beakley was already there – opening the door for him before he could knock again.

"… let me guess: Mad Mackerel cosplay?" She quipped right away, looking him up and down with an unimpressed sneer.

His voice came in a bit muffled, thanks to the mask, but there was something familiar about it nonetheless. "Bianca Beakley!" He chuckled. "Well, ain't that a surprise?"

"Oh! You know me?" Beakley's mood changed instantly, and she put on her best "ex-celebrity" face. "Fan of my work?"

The bird chuckled again. "Not really." He said bluntly, and Beakley scowled. "It's just that in my universe, I made your… ah… acquaintance once before."

"In your… " She paused, taking in both the yellow and orange pin and the familiar voice, and her tired reporter's mind finally put two and two together. "Oh. That's just wonderful." She said sarcastically. "Must have been a fun rendezvous."

"Not so much for the other you." The bird chuckled. "She was broadcasting anti-Negaduck messages to the resistance. Can't have that." He put his fingers out in the shame of a gun. "Bang."

This attempt at intimidation might have worked on someone less conceited, or even then maybe if Beakley hadn't been incredibly hung over at the time. But as it was, she simply yawned and rolled her eyes.

"Riveting, really. So, I'm assuming things in your neck of the multiverse are perfectly wretched as usual?"

The bird nodded. "From _my_ point of view? Absolutely. That's why I'm here."

"Can't wait to hear about it." She droned. If the Negaverse double were glowering at her, she couldn't see it. "Really, I am. Normally I'd love to get an expose, but really… no, actually I wouldn't." She turned and made a big show of calling out behind her. "Boss! Whichever one! There's some pissant from the Negaverse here to see you!"

Rowe, who had been standing right next to her the whole time, walked into the doorway, covering his ears. "Yeah, mate, I gathered." Bushroot followed behind him, pinching his nose.

Beakley pushed past them both, into the club. "Gather this: I'm too good for this crap. I'll be in my trailer." She mumbled under her breath.

Assuming her "trailer," like most other things she mumbled these days, referred to the bar, the two villains shrugged and turned to their unexpected guest. And though the visitor couldn't see them, Quackerjack was poised right beside them as well, ready to act if their visitor from the Negaverse was stupid enough to start trouble.

"Ah, Rowe." The visitor sighed, actually sounding a bit nostalgic. " _Your_ double gave us a heck of a runaround. And you're one of the bosses here? Not bad, kid." He turned to Rowe's leafy companion. "And Bushroot! Not so nebbish now, huh?"

Bushroot just crossed his arms, allowing Rowe to do the sardonic response.

"We ain't their bosses, we're just… wait." Rowe froze just before he would've noted that _he_ was probably the older of the two, and an instant later Bushroot's eyes widened. Just like Beakley, the double's voice was familiar to both him and Bushroot. But _unlike_ Beakley, the two of them had spent enough time with the visitor's counterpart to figure out why.

They shared a surprised glance, but quickly got their bearings and went back to a blank stare - as if nothing happened. But the visitor nodded, knowingly.

"That voice… ugh…" Rowe groaned, marking his realization with a facepalm. "So who are you supposed to be, mate? Lo-Techno?"

"I've heard that in this universe, my double's identity's supposed to be some kinda big secret." The Negaverse version of Techno said with a shrug. "That makes it valuable info. So I ain't giving it out so easy." He paused. "And don't call me that. I'm no sissy, flying around in flashy gear I don't need to get the job done."

"Fair enough." Bushroot replied evenly. " _Do_ you have a name?"

"None that's your business. Don't you worry about it for now."

Rowe sighed, snapping his fingers, and beside him they heard Quackerjack grumble "aw, man!" Even Rowe, who didn't care about that sort of thing the way most of the others did, had to admit the idea of learning the identity of one of Darkwing's friends was… enticing, to say the last. "Fine suggestion, not-Techno," he grunted.

They didn't even need to see the visitor's face to know he was scowling this time. "Whatever. I ain't here to trade sarcasm."

"Then why _are_ you here? " Bushroot sighed.

"To make you an offer you can't refuse."

Rowe and Quackerjack said "wanna bet?" at literally the exact same moment, though only Rowe could be heard from outside the door.

Sensing that was the wrong thing so say, Bushroot tried to preempt any sour reactions. "What he means is, that seems unlikely."

The attempt to be placating didn't work. "Don't be a moron, otter-boy." The visitor snarled. "This is me giving you the chance to make up for the… er… misfortunes the past."

Rowe advanced angrily, butting his palm over his opposing knuckles. "Is that so?"

"Of course it's!" Not-Techno shouted, raising his hands dramatically. Rowe clenched his fists tighter. "I'm plan to undo the mistakes that led to our great master Negaduck's defeat!"

Bushroot and Rowe shared another tense glance. "Payback, huh?

"You say tomato, I say tomahto." The visitor said, calming down. "Why else do you think the highest ranking loyalist in the Negaverse would show up at this filthy shack?"

Even Bushroot's lip curled at that one. The two shared third glance – no use trying to be inconspicuous about it now - and then…

"… sidebar."

"One second, mate!"

… they left the imposter Techno outside the door, suddenly burdened with testing his own patience. In one motion, Bushroot yanked Quackerjack towards them and into a huddle. The door slammed on its own, but the three lowered their voices to a whisper – just in case he was trying to listen through the wall. You never knew, these days.

Bushroot started. "With NegaCrimson a good guy now, us breaking off with them entirely and the whole multiverse plan going awry, I suppose this guy _is_ the most important lieutenant Negaduck has left."

"I met that NegaLaunchpad once," Quackerjack added. He pulled Mr. Banana Brain out of his pocket and added, in a sing song voice, "Not exactly born leader, Dieter."

"So he's here to… what?" Rowe said, looking quickly from one to the other. "Get revenge on us?"

"Hmm…" Quackerjack said, thinking. "Nah. He didn't attack us, did he? Maybe he's out of the loop-de-loop!"

"Or maybe he just doesn't have the full story. Negaduck was always very keen on compartmentalizing. We should know."

Rowe stared at him. "English, mate?"

"He didn't always tell everybody everything." Quackerjack explaind. "His minions only knew what they needed to know. And if Not-Techno out there was only told to futz around the Negaverse keeping things orderly…"

"Then he probably doesn't know exactly how things went down!" Rowe finished. "Perfect!"

"But we can't know for sure right now," Bushroot added. "Let's see what he wants. Quackerjack-" He pointed to the side of the door. "-back in the wings."

Quackerjack did a mock salute and sidled out of sight again. Meanwhile, Bushroot and Rowe returned to the doorway and gently pulled it open.

The double's arms were crossed, and he was tapping his foot impatiently. "Hello again," he said wryly.

"Yeah, greetings," Rowe said dismissively. "So we did some talking and we just have to know: why the heck are you here, mate? You're not out to try something, are you?"

"Not unless you make me. What's the matter?" He smirked. "I figured the Fearsome Five would be jumping at the chance to undo your failures and bring about Lord Negaduck's return! You ain't lost your edge, have you?"

Rowe snorted. Apparently, he had mistaken their disdain for cowardice. "You want _us_ to help you break Negaduck out?"

"Among other things." He said, with a new determination. "Ever since Lord Negaduck was… " he paused, as if acknowledging it was painful, "… taken down. The Negaverse has gone _way_ downhill. The lawlessness. The cruelty. The endless pain and oppression. Gone!"

He suddenly punched the doorframe, making the three on the other end jump. He was fuming now, his breath becoming more and more ragged as he said each word. "They're passing _laws_ now. Making things… ugh… _safe._ And it's all that traitor girl's fault! It makes me wanna…" He raised his fist again, and Bushroot leapt forward to stop him from completely ruining the doorframe.

But to their surprise, he suddenly stopped himself. Instead he stood up straight, and put his fist into his other hand. They couldn't see his face, but they had been in the business to know when someone was smiling maniacally. "But I've got a plan, see? I'm putting together a way to make everything go back the way it was. And I need allies. That's what you guys are for. Doesn't it make you furious, the way Negaduck went down? Don't you want the _real_ ruler of both universes back in action?"

That seemed to be the end of his sales pitch. He put his arms out wide, as if opening himself up to bring them into the fold again. Rowe and Bushroot glanced at each other again, each trying to hide their creeped out and unsettled reactions.

"… sidebar again."

The double faltered. "Wha-"

The door closed before they could hear him react further. As they pulled Quackerjack into the huddle again, he was already laughing hysterically.

" _This guy_ is Negaduck's last enforcer? Hoo hoo! No wonder the Negaverse is going to heaven in a handbag!"

"Don't be so hasty." Bushroot chided. "He's mistaken, but that doesn't make him a moron." The others looked at him, but he just shrugged. "I once nearly got eaten by a _potato._ I make it a rule not to underestimate anybody."

He threw the door – or more accurately what was on the other side of it - a quick but disdainful glance. "But that doesn't mean I want him or his crazy mission on my doorstep."

Quackerjack clapped him on the back, hooting. "I'll handle this…" Before the others could stop him or do much more than whisper "wait, don't-," he leapt over the huddle, bounced to the door and threw it open with a _**SLAM!**_ *

The double was still in his arms-wide pose, though he jumped in surprise upon seeing Quackerjack on the other side of the door.

"So, let us get this straight!" Quackerjack said right away, ignoring the surprised reaction. "You want us, the Fearsome Five, the greatest collection of supervillains in St. Canard, bastions of all things mischief and larceny, to help you bring back Mr. Evil-In-A-Cheap-Yellow-Suit?"

Not-Techno stared. "What, that ain't obvious? Listen-"

Quackerjack ignored him. "And you want this because we, of course, were totally loyal to His Grand-Exhulted-Puppy-Kicking-Lordship right up until the bitter end, right?"

The stare continued, but Quackerjack assumed their unwanted guest's eyes were narrowing. "Any reason I shouldn't?"

"Well, it's just…" Quackerjack trailed off, making a show of sounding unsure – even concerned, which should have been a red flag. "You're... not so up to date on how that all happened, are you?"

"Hey! What do you mean, exactly?" The double's fists clenched. "Am I missing something, here?"

Quackerjack grinned. "Alright alright, calm down! Just sit right there, and let us explain." He looked up the block, then down the road, scanning for eavesdroppers. Once satisfied, he gestured for Not-Techno to lean in.

Which he did, closer and closer. But Quackerjack waited before continuing, until long enough that the double's masked face was _just_ beyond the doorframe...

"Listen closely…"

 _ ***SLAM!**_ _*_

A string of painful yelps and colorful curses echoed from the outside. Rowe and Bushroot winced, though they didn't feel _too_ much sympathy.

"Ooohoho, what a mouth on that guy!" Quackerjack was doubled over, cackling wildly. "Nope, he's definitely _not_ our Techno!"

Rowe and Bushroot were temped to join in, but there were still things to take care off – and trash to put out. "Still, that's kind of attention's no good for anybody, mate. Much as I don't want to: Bushroot, would you-"

Bushroot nodded. "Already done. The 'hounds' should be arriving in five… four… three…"

"The hounds" were the Five's slang for the gaggle of ravenous but pet-sized plant monsters Bushroot created, ostensibly to make friends. They despised everyone and everything in existence but Bushroot, and freely expressed that endless hatred with teeth sharper than thorns and claws like splinters. Nobody liked being anywhere near them, which meant they made great security guards – as long as Bushroot and only Bushroot fed them.

Sure enough, within seconds sound of the Techno double's furious ranting had given way to alarmed screeching, following by unearthly floral growling, then finally the sound of the enforcer's final threat fading into the horizon.

"Ha!" Quackerjack laughed. He had been watching out a window, and was now rolling on the ground in stitches. "I hope that kid _does_ show up again. That was hilarious!"

"True," Bianca sighed suddenly, making everyone jump. Evidently she hadn't gone back to the bar as they thought, but had been standing around the corner, listening in.

As usual, she found things much less amusing than the others. "So, what are the chances our friends in SHUSH surveillance didn't see all that?"

"Oh, that?" Quackerjack shrugged. "Pretty much nil."

Bushroot sighed. "No problem. Back to lying low. Luckily plants are good at that." The four of them hurried back to the main area. As soon as they got there, Bushroot shouted for the bartender. "Hammerhead!"

Hammerhead Hannigan, who had been asleep at the bar, quickly jerked awake. "Wuh?"

"We need a little cleanup." Bushroot said. "Make it look like… uh…"

"Like we broke in, robbed the place and then broke back out before the cops arrive, would ya?" Quackerjack finished, laughing.

Hannigan made a tired salute and pulled an enormous mallet from behind the bar, preparing to smash a few windows. Meanwhile, the most-wanted members of the Five all made their way down past the basement and into the tunnels together, still discussing their troubling visitor along the way.

"That _could_ be him taken of," Rowe said nervously. "But I'd say he's still going to be a big problem." When Quackerjack looked skeptical, he shrugged. "Bushroot's right, mate. Never underestimate _anybody_ from the Negaverse."

"Ssso what do you sssuppose we do?" Camille asked, crawling along the wall as a lizard.

"Usually I'd say nothing!" Quackerjack laughed. "But in this case, I'd say nothing with a generous side of letting our enemies handle each other!"

"You mean, give Darkwing and his croniesss a tip?" Camille replied, shocked.

"Well, no. Not _give_ it to them. That'd be too easy." Rowe mused. But then he grinned, wringing his hands together as a sudden greedy idea hit him. "How about something along the lines of 'hideously overcharging them for basic information?'"

A laugh rumbled through the entire group. "Now _that_ I think I can get behind!" Beakley said, grinning ear to ear. "I'll make the necessary arrangements…"

* * *

 _An Indeterminate Time Later, Offices of the St. Canard Broadcasting Network,_

Another day, another breezy news report for the twin cities that bordered Audobon Bay.

Across a television screen, a very professional looking duck in front of a busy park on Duckburg's coast. She was talking into her microphone, but continually gestured so that the audience's eyes were on the world behind her. And why not? The program had found a perfect view of the city from the ground: far in the distance Scrooge McDuck's Money Bin could be seen beyond the skyline, while in the foreground families were running, picnicking and altogether enjoying the sunshine.

It was, all in all, an idyllic scene.

"… _and so,"_ the reporter was concluding, _"it seems that in the months since the criminal group known as the Fearsome Five's daring attack on Duckburg's number one citizen, the city has found again an easy peace."_ She turned to watch a group of children run past, laughing together. She smiled slightly, though her tone remained even. _"Duckburg's students have left their classes and enjoy their free time, safe in the knowledge that St. Canard's most notorious criminal organization is staying on their side of the bay."_

Her smile faded, and she walked around the camera until it faced the opposite direction – towards St. Canard. As if the fates themselves were frowning upon the neighboring metropolis, the only raincloud in the sky was hovering above the city, covering the entire area with shade.

" _But just across the Audobon Bay Bridge, there lies another story."_ She continued, the severity of her voice increasing. _"With the Five's influence growing following their successful raid, we find ourselves increasingly looking to SHUSH and Darkwing Duck now more than ever to combat the increasing threat of larceny and mayhem. Time will tell what affect this will have on the changing scope of the city, especially with business moguls Scrooge McDuck and Flintheart Glomgold, among others, increasing their own influence over the city. It was only last week that Glomgold, in response to questions about the city's supervillain element, was quoted as saying…"_

With a quick _***BOOP***_ the contents of the screen faded to black, and in the real world a dapper middle aged duck sat at a desk poring over the footage. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking very pleased. On the other side of the desk, the very reporter featured in the story – Julia Plumis - sat waiting patiently for a reply.

"Another great report as always, Julia, or my name isn't Clive Ganderson." He said, with a pompous sounding voice. "A few more like this and you'll have my job!"

"The world should be so lucky," she replied with a playful wink.

He didn't seem offended by the jab. In fact, he laughed. "Ho ho! That's the spirit!"

The two shared a laugh for a moment. But when he continued, it was with an honest look in his eye: he wasn't kidding. "But either way, I'm serious. Your career is on the rise. Keep hitting heights like this, and you really will find yourself a rising star."

"Well…" she reddened through her feathers. "There are a lot of people I could thank along the way."

"That's also the spirit!" He said again, proud as ever. "Just make sure you give me a nod, so long as you keep the acceptance speech below twenty minutes."

Julia smiled to herself. Clive and _News on the Wing_ had done a great deal for her, but that wasn't exactly what she was talking about. Before she could respond, however, the company phone on Clive's desk rang and he moved to answer it – leaving her with her thoughts.

The past had a lot to be grateful for, and she couldn't stop herself from going into a bit of reminiscence while she had the time, mentally reviewing her last report and wondering what she would cover next.

After a couple minutes, Clive turned away from the phone and stared at her, his face unreadable. "Hrm. Speaking of big people, it seems like the… er… new boss wants to see you."

There were exceptions to every good day, evidently. Julia frowned slightly.

It wasn't hard to figure out how the _News On The Wing_ team felt about their network's new owner – all one had to do was check the dumpster to find a mountain of portraits of him, all "suspiciously" riddled with dart holes. But it did little good for anyone to make it too obvious.

"I'll…" she started vaguely, feeling a bit surprised. The new owner had only met with executives thus far, never the talent. "I'll be right there, of course…"

"Good luck." Clive said, looking almost worried. "And don't say the wrong thing."

"Psh, he's just an old duck with too much money." Julia scoffed. "How hard could he be to handle?"

Clive grimaced. "Just be careful."

Julia nodded, but left with her head held high. There were many things the new boss could want to see her about, many of them not good – after all, her latest report on the Duckburg / St. Canard situation painted him in a less than flattering light – but she wouldn't let herself be intimidated.

She rode the elevator up to the penthouse floor – itself a surprise, since as the story went the new boss so far had yet to use the posh office space he demanded the building procure even once. She couldn't help the feeling that this was all for her benefit, somehow, but that was ridiculous.

When the elevator opened, she was assaulted by the view of another set of gigantic double doors, with the initials G.G embossed in front. She gently pushed the doors open,

At the desk sat Flintheart Glomgold, her new boss and - as her rather unsettling research showed - soon to be one of the biggest landlords in St. Canard. She tried to keep her revulsion off of her face.

"Welcome, Ms. Plumis," Glomgold said as she entered. He had been staring at the door, as if waiting for her. "Pleasure te finally meet ye."

"Of course, Mr. Glomgold." She said politely. "I should say the same."

"Ah, good manners. That's what ah like te see! Sit down, sit down!"

She did so, now feeling a little nervous. Being in the belly of the beast made the uncertainty that much more obvious. What was the meeting about, that he couldn't just send a memo?

"Ah bet yer wonderin' why yer here, eh? Ah would be." He laughed to himself. "Ah don't like having mah time wasted either!"

"It's quite alright, sir."

"Ahm sure it is. But ah'll cut right to th' chase anyway. Yer here because something that… ah…" He paused, as if searching for a word. Plumis knew better – he probably knew exactly what he was going to say, and just wanted to seem casual. "… _concerns_ yer skill, as one of our most prominent – and, ah have to add, most skilled – young reporters."

"My _skill?_ " She gasped, slightly breaking out of her polite air. "What's wrong with my work?"

"Nothin' specifically." Glomgold said airily. He seemed pleased to have flustered her. "In fact, ye're a dynamo – ye have a way of gettin' information that most spies I know would kill fer – but it's ye're _subject matter_ ahm troubled by."

He pressed a button on his desk and a panel opened up on the wall, revealing a television. On the screen was the report Julia did on the McDuck / Glomgold feud – the part about Glomgold in particular. The volume was muted, but Julia – and Glomgold, surprisingly – could follow the whole thing by heart.

"Th' Genghis Khan of th' Business World," Glomgold mused, at the same time Julia's tv counterpart said those exact words in reference to him. "Not that bad a title, if ah do say so m'self. But one that… as ah say… concerns me."

So that was it. He was angry about the story after all, and now he was trying to pressure her into changing her tone. Well, as she said before, she would not be intimidated.

"There may have been a bit of editorial in it, _sir,"_ she said pointedly, "but I can assure you our report was as factually accurate as your own financial records, Mr. Glomgold."

There wasn't _necessarily_ a dig intended in those words, but she certainly hoped Glomgold would take it that way. Everyone knew his financial records were only as honest as it took to stroke his ego.

But Glomgold didn't react any stronger than usual. "Mmm, yes." He hummed, twiddling his thumbs. "Well, ah think that's th' problem, don't you? Yer program is focusin' on the wrong things, makin' fools of yerselves. Which reflects bad on _me_ now." He sighed. "So ah have to take action."

Plumis' was shocked. Was he really going to try and _fire_ her?

Well, if he thought being forced out by a bitter corporate shark in a clearly corrupt move was going to hurt her career, he was fooling himself. Even if she didn't do anything about it herself – which she certainly would - this would only serve to make him look even worse.

She tensed, waiting for the whammy and mentally preparing her righteous reaction.

"Which is why," Glomgold started, more brightly than she was expecting, "ah want to spearhead a new d'rection for _News on the Wing_ , and ah want you to help me do it!"

That was a surprise. She wasn't being fired. So why did it still leave her with a feeling of dread...?

"In… what way, Mr. Glomgold?"

"Since ah've been here, I've seen us broadcast on economics and finances and politics, exposin' supervillains and conspiracies and what have ye, but we've failed to focus on the _real_ problem prowlin' these sad streets."

"Darkwing Duck."

Julia blinked. Her throat tensed. "W-what?"

"It's an travesty, really!" Glomgold spat. He pounded his desk for emphasis, making Julia jump. "He operates on his own! Outside the law, without a name, without accountability, and not a single check to stop him. He attracts the worst kind a' criminals who wreak havoc across these streets, and everyone looks the other way."

"But sir, we-"

"And while Darkwing plays his little games, innocent people are caught in th' crossfire. Why, just a few months ago Darkwing's band of playmates nearly killed us both in Duckburg, if ye'll recall!"

"To be fair, there was a bit more going on than just Darkwi-"

"And ahm sure you know he's startin' to lose support with SHUSH. Ye know why that is? Because he's a _menace!"_

"A menace? Mr. Glomgold, I think that's going too-"

"Darkwing creates these problems. And it's going to be mah mission, to hold him accountable for it." His voice died down to a low, dark whisper. "Starting with his name."

So that was his game. She didn't know why – maybe he saw Darkwing as a threat, maybe he just couldn't stand the embarrassment of being held hostage by supervillains – but he had a vendetta against Darkwing, and he at the same time wanted to prove his superiority over the network and reporter that slighted him by trying to make her do his dirty work.

Well, there was only one answer to say to that! One the one hand, saying yes would probably get her that solo career a lot faster… but on the other hand, could she do this and look herself in the mirror every morning?

"… no, sir."

Glomgold raised an eyebrow. It was, again, less of a reaction than she was expecting. "No? Whaddaya mean, 'no?!'"

"I can't do that." She sighed. "I can do a story on Darkwing, but I can only tell the truth. And the truth is, his name is classified for a reason. Even if he's on the outs, SHUSH has been very clear about that."

She rose to stand. "Sorry sir, but it goes against my journalistic integrity to cover something like that. I won't do it." She knew that this refusal probably meant the end of her job here at SCBN. But she could always find somewhere else.

Maybe Scrooge McDuck had a network of his own – that would be nice and ironic.

She prepared to leave, intending to march out of his office with her head held high and ignore any sputtering objections and demands Glomgold might throw at her back. But to her surprise, he barely reacted at all.

"Now that's a shame," was all he said.

Something about his voice kept her from leaving. It was almost unsettlingly calm, even casual. Something was up. She turned to look at him, halfway out of his chair.

"Ah was hopin' I was wrong about you." He continued, still sounding airy. "About yer loyalty to the… ah… right thinking of this city."

She gaped at him. _"What?"_ She snapped, misplacing her professional demeanor for a moment.

"Yer not the only one who can do their research, m'dear." He pulled a file out from his desk, and began lazily leafing through it. It was an enormous folder with everything from old receipts to photos to federal documents inside, all perfectly ordered and organized. Julia was shocked to see her picture on the front of it.

"Oh, no doubt yer better than most," he went on. "But there are ways of gettin' at even the small secrets if ye know where te look. Isn't that right, Julia? Or should I not bother with that rot? That is, after all, not yer real name, am I right?"

She jumped in surprise, her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure what she was about to say, and she didn't want to know, but her flight reflex had shorted out.

"Yes, indeed. It says right here, ye used to be called Giulia Plumaggio. Not a bad start, but what comes next ah wonder."

Julia's stomach had now leapt fully into her throat. She suddenly felt dizzy, all of a sudden, and she clutched tightly onto the back of her chair to keep from reacting.

Glomgold took a moment to amuse himself with her reaction before continuing., and his face pulled into a nefarious grin. "Tsk tsk tsk," he said, sounding more amused than disappointed. "This file wasn't easy to build, but it paints a very troubling story. Run ins with the law. Gang affiliations. Connections to some rather nasty people. That's all bad business, and ah should know."

"T-th…" She stuttered, before forcing herself to keep her even composure. "That's all in the past, sir. I put that all behind me."

"Why should ah believe that? Ye haven't been honest with anyone about this – ah doubt even your devoted boss Anderson knows where you really came from. Falsified resumes and records, even a fake name!" He slid the file over to her, but she didn't need to see it to know what he was talking about.

"N-no! It's nothing like that at all. W-when I was starting out, my agent knew. The name change was just to help me find a clean slate!"

"With a past like yers, ye think that's believable? Who's te say yer not using yer position to feed info to yer old pals? Ah know ye've been using those connections to get the information ye're so famous fer! Who's to say it doesn't go both ways?" His words were harsh, but his ever-wider grin told another story. "Ah can't have me network implicated in something like that!"

"B-but… what? No! That's nothing, just some stupid mistakes I made as a kid! They're only informants now! I've never been anything but dedicated to this job."

"So ye say…" Glomgold was clearly enjoying himself now, but the air of obviously fake congeniality remained. "It pains me, but ah just can't take yer word. Ahm afraid I could even need te get the police involved, just in case…"

"NO!" She shrieked. She had no idea how or why this happening. It didn't seem to make sense. But she had to stop it somehow. "Please Mr. Glomgold, d-don't…"

"Ah can't trust ye, m'dear." He said, supremely indifferent. "Unless, of course, ye do something to _prove_ yer a faithful employee, dedicated to th' side of right an' all…"

Everything seemed to stop, as realization set in. Julia slowly slung her shoulders, deflating like a rusted wall. "Like… finding Darkwing Duck's secret identity?"

Glomgold smiled triumphantly. "That'd be a start, yes. Now yeh're getting it!"

He leaned back in his chair, casually looking down at the files on his desk. He was done with her. "Ah expect a full story by the end of the month. Nay, the end of the _week!_ "

Julia breathing was haggard. She was shaking all over. "O-of course."

He glanced back up at her. "Of course… what?"

Her teeth clenched at the strain of spitting it out. "Of course… _Mr. Glomgold_ …"

She looked up and saw that grin again. She _hated_ that grin, now. "That's the spirit!" He said, before simply waving her to the door. "Dismissed."

As she left, Julia's head fell low. She glanced at the tv on Glomgold's wall, still playing her old report, and quickly turned away. She couldn't bear to look at herself.

"Yes, sir…"

* * *

 _The Next Day. Further Across Town, SHUSH HQ:_

For some reason, the long hallways of SHUSH Central seemed less friendly and more sterile these days. Darkwing Duck –self proclaimed expert in all manner of homey settings as he as, for a father had to know these things - knew that there was nothing really different about it. But the feeling as he waked to was different, as if reflecting the different way of seeing things that defined his long time allies these days.

For the first time in years, he was led to J. Gander Hooter's old office by SHUSH officials – who had the decently to look uncomfortable, at least. When he arrived at their destination he did not even bother to wait for them to give him clearance to continue. He simple marched past them and sauntered in J. Gander Hooter's old office – now occupied by his dour replacement, Director Navis.

She seemed completely unsurprised by his sudden entrance. Which, in his opinion, made the guards seem rather unnecessary. The poked their heads in, waiting for an order on how to proceed, but she simply waved them away. They disappeared without a second word, off to do whatever it is that secret agents and international police do on the job.

That just left Navis and Darkwing alone to continue their meeting. Believe it or not, such a minor commotion was common for his talks with the new director… such as they were.

"Welcome, Darkwing Duck," the director said with a bored, but polite tone. She was more invested in checking over the sea of files on her desk than him. He wasn't surprised. Treating him and his team like an afterthought was a common tactic of hers. "I trust you found your way here without complaint."

"In a manner of speaking."

Darkwing paced around the room, looking over the various widgets and antiques on the shelves that hadn't actually changed at all in the times he had been in this room, perusing them as if he were laying his eyes on them for the first time.

Navis stared at him, raising an questioning eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"Just enjoying the view." Darkwing said cheekily. "It's seems like so long since I've seen this office. Something's different…" He pointed at the windowless walls. "New drapes?"

He spotted Navis' lip beginning to curl and smirked. It was rare for her to show visible irritation, as apposed to a controlled disdain. This was a personal best: they had barely said two lines to one another so far.

"In fact, I'd say the last time I was here was, oh, right after all the craziness in Duckburg." He said airily, but a pointed edge was inching into his voice. "And even then, it was for a _debriefing_ of all things. Nothing at all since then. Not even a Flashquack with a weather update."

Navis sighed. "You've already been made well aware that SHUSH as a whole intends to reduce the reliance we've placed on fringe assets like you and your…" She paused, pursing her lips. "…'organization.'"

"Because the vice president says so?" Darkwing said, putting his hands on his hips.

Navis tensed slightly at the allegation. _"Because_ I have reassessed our history with your group," she replied, "and have deemed it less necessary to involve you than my predecessor in anything but the most extreme of situations. Think of it as an opportunity to get your own house in order, Mr. Mallard."

Darkwing grit his teeth. That was something he disliked about speaking with Navis. Usually it was just mild verbal sparring, but she had a nasty habit of "casually" bringing up the fact that she knew his true identity when he stepped out of line, as if never wanting him to forget that SHUSH had access to that leverage.

Presumably it was a control tactic, but it only ever served to remind him that there used to be a time where that sort of thing didn't matter.

"It's Darkwing," he said, suppressing his anger. "So… you called me in to fire me?"

"Not quite yet, no." She said. "We are simply keeping you at a distance. Especially after the incident…"

Darkwing grimaced. "The fiasco?"

"The _incident,"_ Navis corrected forcefully, "which resulted in the loss of pivotal information and valuable property belonging to one of the most influential figures in the free world! You're lucky Scrooge is too attached to you to press charges: after the foolhardy mistakes your team made-"

Darkwing jumped forward, slamming his hands on his desk. Pretense, for the moment, was dropped. Navis eyed him with complete calm, making no effort to dislodge him. "Are you kidding me? If we had been able to properly coordinate with SHUSH, we might've been able to respond to all the Five's schemes without problems - well, _too many_ problems."

When she didn't respond, he pushed off the desk and started pacing around the room. Navis continued to watch him, completely calm. "Instead, your people were as useful as headless chickens-"

"Careful," Navis said abruptly, her only attempt to do so. "My grandmother was half-chicken."

Darkwing faltered. The wind came out of his sails, if only for a moment. "Sorry." He said awkwardly, before launching full force back into the rant. "But my point is, _my_ team had to run themselves ragged putting all those figurative fires out themselves! It's no wonder they pulled the wool over our eyes! We only got help from, what, _one_ SHUSH agent? And given with what she had to deal with she's practically a saint!"

Navis glanced down to add a note to one of the files in front of her. "I'll make sure to pass on your praise to Agent Gingivere. Are you finished?"

"Not even remotely!" Darkwing declared, throwing his hands out for dramatic effect. "What about the break-in at the Dudly Duck Institute, huh? What about the radioactive space rock! What about the _dinosaur monsters?"_

At this Navis did actually look a bit uncomfortable, something Darkwing took great satisfaction in.

"I had to stumble onto that by _accident!"_ He continued "Our inability to coordinate nearly left the city in the throes of diabolical devolution for a _second_ time! I'm not even going to bring up having had the darn thing within city limits in the first place! _"_

Darkwing threw his hands up, breathing heavily – his rant having taken a lot out of him. He wasn't as young and full of dramatic rage as he used to be.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Darkwing caught his breath and neither of them spoke. Navis waited until she was sure he wouldn't continue before responding. "Are you finished _now_?" She said calmly. "Because I have been more than patient while you ranted like a child."

Darkwing opened his mouth to object, but Navis cut him off. "And contrary to your assumption, though I still believe in putting your team at arms length, I _do_ understand your point."

Darkwing looked skeptical, but Navis ignored his disbelief.

"More _to_ that point," she finished. "I didn't call you here to fight, Darkwing. Circumstances call for more direct conference between our individual… situations."

"Ooh, con _fer_ ence!" He said, feigning excitement. "It's almost as if we're part of the family!"

He expected something sharp in return, but instead of shooting back she simply fixed a stern glare at him, and so he decided to drop it. It was _possible_ , however unlikely, that he had made his point enough for one day.

"Fine. I'll play along." Darkwing grumbled. "So let's confer. Do you have any update on the Fearsome Five?"

"None." Navis grunted. "We know they're in that blasted club somewhere, but every time we search the place there's no trace of them. And city hall won't let us shut it down: something about the tourist industry."

Darkwing rubbed his neck sheepishly. The mayor did have a point. "Well, they _are_ the city's main draw. Besides myself, of course."

"Hrm." She frowned. "At any rate. We have the Fearsome Dive under surveillance, but none of our major targets are stupid enough to get themselves spotted."

Darkwing shook his head. Unfortunately, he had heard this all before from his own team. "No more on our end, I'm afraid. Bear with me, but…" He paused, unsure. "I'm starting to consider just letting them be."

Navis looked disapproving, but that was nothing new. She began to speak, but Darkwing cut her off. "Look," he said wearily. "We know where they're operating from, we know how they've been operating, and we know the kind of things they're willing to do. There's an old saying about the devil you know, and I'd say we know the Fearsome Five more than most."

"They had the audacity to rob Scrooge McDuck - one of your benefactors might I add!" Navis shot back, the sheer disbelief putting her voice up an octave. "And they're galvanizing the criminal element in this city!"

"In a much less dangerous direction than most, it's worth noting." He said pointedly, but at Navis' still-hostile face he raised his hand in surrender. "Look, I'm not saying we let them continue bedeviling the city. I'm saying that if they're lying low this well, we're just wasting resources at this rate. We'll have to wait for them to make the next move, and be prepared." When Navis continued to look unconvinced, he waved it off. "Just think about it."

"Hrm." rather than agree or disagree, Navis stoically glanced down at the her files again. "We'll table that. It's a good thing you brought this up, at any rate, because it relates to another, possibly more pressing problem that has developed recently." She picked up a paper and handed it to Darkwing. He recognized it as a graph of dimensional fluctuations – Techno had quite a few of them. "No doubt you've noticed the noise our interdimensional neighbors have been making."

"Yes, we have. Someone or something has been popping back and forth from the Negaverse. I assume you've had as little luck pinning down our tourist as we have?"

"As far as we can tell, it has to be a small group – maybe even one person – deft enough to slip through both your and our movements." She reached for another file, this time with a photo, and Darkwing recognized the long red hair in the picture. "At first we thought it was your friend, the Negaverse counterpart to Gosalyn Mallard."

There she was, doing it again. "Can't you just say Crimson and NegaCrimson?" He said, with frustration.

She threw him an exasperated look. "Very well, _'NegaCrimson.'"_ She conceded, sighing as if she were the one more frustrated. "At any rate, we assumed Crimson's counterpart was making unsanctioned social calls. She has a history of that."

"NegaCrimson wouldn't-"

Navis held up her hand to indicate her need to continue. "And then, this morning, we received this." She slid a tablet over her desk. Darkwing picked it up: on the screen was a picture, taken from what looked like the street outside SHUSH HQ. It showed an open jack-in-the-box plastered with flashy decals and painted pictures. The box was open, and a note had sprung from inside

On the note was written - in wild, explosive font: "WE KNOW SOMETHING YOU DON'T KNOW!" There was a drawing of what was uncannily similar to a Negaverse Portal alongside it, as well as a small map of the last recorded fluctuation's location was pinned to its side, all shaded in Negaduck's colors. "DELIVER $100,000 IN CASH FOR YOUR DAILY LIFELINE!"

Darkwing recognized the style immediately: several months before, the Fearsome Five had sent him an invitation to a "party" that looked just like it. Not to mention the note was signed: _Your Unfriendly Neighborhood_ _F.F._

"The Five sent you a note about the Negaverse?" Darkwing gasped. "Why didn't you _lead_ with that?!"

She ignored him. "Given these events, it's become a distinct possibility that NegaCrimson's reformation may have been more short lived than it seemed. As she was previously one of Negaduck's staunchest allies, it stands to reason that she could have learned a thing or two about his way, outside our notice."

Now it was Darkwing's turn to frown disapprovingly. "NegaCrimson's past is a very complicated story, as I'm sure you know from her file." He said disdainfully. "I have the greatest faith that she hasn't backslided. She left what's left of the Five on pretty decent terms, but even if she was paying a social call certain members of my team would definitely have known about it!"

"Can you verify that, or is that just optimism?" Navis said sharply. "Sneaking into our universe and making deals with that specific brand of criminals under our nose is exactly Negaduck's M.O. But the Five no longer has any interest in that sort of association, so it also stands to reason that they sell her out instead."

"You could think that," Darkwing said, glowering. "But there _are_ other options to consider."

"I seriously hope you don't mean actually paying those criminals. Especially not when we have a lead."

"You have an _assumption_ , not a lead." Darkwing said, getting a bit more intense than he intended. "And of course not! There's no need to pay them, because the simple fact that they sent the note tells us enough."

Navis' eyes narrowed. "Explain."

Darkwing grinned. "Elementary, my dear director!" He said, going into his most dramatic of deliveries. "We're hunting them, so even making this offer for a little cash – okay, a _lot_ of cash – is too big a risk. So it must be something bad. So bad that they would risk it. But not bad enough for them to just tell us outright. So it's not Negaduck, or NegaHooter. It's someone smaller time, someone they don't fully believe could follow in Negaduck's footsteps but whom they're still concerned about. Which rules out NegaGosalyn. If she did turn bad again, they would know exactly how capable she is."

"Besides," he went on, "you underestimate how close the Five are to NegaCrimson – they _all_ suffered thanks to working with Negaduck. It would take a lot for them to cheat her like this, even if she did come with them with some terrible plan. No, this is probably someone else. Likely another one of Negaduck's minions, who knew about the Five."

Navis took a moment to consider all of that information. "Surprisingly good detective work. But it still leaves us with a problem. If it isn't NegaGosalyn, we have no lead at all."

Darkwing let the "surprisingly" jab pass. "It's better than going after an ally."

He expected her to make a counter argument, but instead she leaned into her desk in exasperation, rubbing neat little circles into her forehead. "Rings of supervillains. Negaverse complications. All things that St. Canard has far too much of that I _do not need right now."_

Darkwing stared. "I can't help but think there may be some other reason you called me here? Something… dare I say… worse?"

Navis continued to ease her irritation for a few moments before responding, in a frustrated, resigned voice. "Yes. There is. While 'worse' is subjective, it's obviously come up at the least opportune time possible."

She dropped her voice to a low, serious tone, and gestured for Darkwing to come closer. He was so surprised by her change in mood that he didn't argue. "What I'm about to say doesn't leave this building," she said, the look in her eyes leaving no room for disagreement. "Except between your sidekicks."

"They're not _all_ sidekicks, but you don't need to tell me that. I understand."

She sighed, as if not at all wanting to say the words she was about to. "The Air Pirates are making a resurgence."

"Air Pirates?" Darkwing cocked his head, quirking a single eyebrow. "I thought they went down with the new Iron Vulture."

"So did we. But we were wrong."

"And that's as bad as an uninvited invader from the Negaverse?" Darkwing said, less than believing. The Air Pirates were bad, to be sure, but their interests so far had not been particularly far reaching.

"Yes, it is." Navis said, the hard edge to her voice returning. "As more to the point, they've been busy. We've recently been made aware that for the past few months, perhaps even the past few years, classified SHUSH shipments have been... disappearing… from our records – for which they are taking credit."

"Your records?" He gasped. Now he understood Navis' urge to facepalm. "That means… oy, not another mole!"

"It's possible, but for now it's a tabled issue." Darkwing began to disagree, but Navis raised her hand again. "You're not the only one who can eliminate false leads. If there _is_ a leak, and that does look likely, it's almost certainly not coming from the main office. The items being stolen are significant and often dangerous, but they're also old: discarded experiments, the notes from abandoned operations, backed-up files, that sort of thing. Our trash, but everyone else's treasure."

Darkwing's ears caught something particularly troubling. "Discarded _experiments?"_

"That's what we're the most concerned about. Most of the stolen intel is outdated and useless, but even long defunct projects, in the wrong hands, could theoretically become a major problem."

"Trust me, I've had more than enough experience with SHUSH experiments to know what you're talking about." He replied, wincing as he relived old pains.

She nodded. "The goods are all being stolen en route to archival facilities: when word gets out that they're being transported, the pirates swoop in and take them when they're at their most vulnerable."

"How easy is it to get that information?"

"The scope of SHUSH communications protocols is wider than it should be, obviously. Standard bulletins like the motions of storage convoys can be heard from any official communications post on this side of the country willing to tune in." Navis shuffled through her files – evidently she had an actual list, and it was a long one. "The perpetrators could easily be hundreds of miles away, which means the leak may be – and likely _is –_ a fringe operation."

"Or it could be someone in the city, even in this building, trying to make you _think_ they're someplace remote!" Darkwing countered, though he added "Or… vice versa. I'm told spies just _adore_ complexity."

"You _could_ think that," she said, mocking Darkwing's tone from earlier. He was surprised – she definitely wasn't one for jokes, even humorless ones. At least not with him. Maybe the situation was just that bad. "But the other reason I'm almost certain this is not related to our core operations is because we have reason to believe this leak has been hiding in obscurity for quite some time, thanks to you."

"Me? You mean…" His eyes widened in realization. "Kit Cloudkicker's story." He said, thinking back to his meeting with the once-ageless adventurer. "He went looking for asylum from SHUSH against the Air Pirates, once, only for them to track him down anyway. And you think…" Navis nodded. "But that was _decades_ ago."

"Yes, it was." Navis replied. "And until now, we thought that leak had simply moved on once its job was done. But it's worth considering the possibility that somewhere, most likely in the general vicinity of Cape Suzette, a portion of SHUSH is still dirty and has been keeping the Air Pirates' nose to the ground all these years."

"And you want to put that _aside_ for now?" Darkwing said incredulously. "It seems like something that ought to be taken care of at your first convenience."

"I do, because we have bigger problems. We're not the only ones the Air Pirates have been preying on. Our sources tell us that FOUL has also lost assets, as well as various government agencies worldwide. They've caught us with our pants down, and are sitting on a small but immeasurably valuable collection of classified and dangerous material."

Darkwing sighed. "So what are they planning to do with it? Another superweapon? International conspiracy? Sell off Hooter's grandma's old apple pie recipe?"

"Worse, they're holding an auction."

Darkwing blinked. He couldn't have heard that right. "… say what now?"

To his surprise and dismay, Navis didn't change her answer. "Right here in St. Canard."

"They're _insane!"_

"Yes, they are. " She sighed. "They've sent invitations to us, everyone else they've stolen from, and presumably every criminal or covert organization on this side of country: we can either buy our material back, or watch someone else acquire it."

"Or we could raid the place."

"They're likely expecting that, unfortunately." She said evenly. "In fact, they're likely expecting _everyone_ to do that. And if one group starts shooting, they all will."

"… and it'll be a bloodbath! Right in the middle of St. Canard."

For once, he and Navis seemed to be on exactly the same page. Her face was blank, but her eyes were as anxious as he felt. "They haven't told us where yet, but their message indicates that it's not going to be somewhere secluded, like the Underground. It's going to be wide, and in the open. There'll be no way of keeping a conflict that size from spilling into the streets, and everyone knows it."

"Mutually Assured Destruction: The Urban Spy Edition." Darkwing groaned. "That's… just crazy enough to work."

"And they know it. They're counting on us to do their dirty work, and keep the event running smooth. Otherwise, we could have a disaster on our hands."

"So…" Darkwing said uneasily. "What do 'we' plan to do?"

"Simple." Navis replied, allowing herself a small smile. "We're going to raid the place."

Darkwing caught himself from falling over. "…obviously."

Navis was well ahead of him. "It's not the best solution, but we can _not_ let those materials fall into the wrong hands. The global community is looking to us to handle the situation. So the Air Pirates _must_ be shut down."

"And what about that nagging 'Mutually Assured Destruction' problem?"

"We have people already prepared to cordon off and control whatever area the pirates communicate to us, at a moment's notice." She pulled a map of St. Canard from under her files. Half the city's intersections were were marked as possible roadblocks, as well as indicated routes for police movements. It was, admittedly, a decent lockdown plan.

But Darkwing was still skeptical. "There's a good chance the other 'guests' will be expecting that."

"Then ideally they'll know getting in our way isn't worth it." She replied. "But that's also where you lot come in."

"Oh?" At this, Darkwing perked up. He had to admit, he couldn't resist a special role. "I suppose a party just isn't a party without a guest appearance."

"I wouldn't say that myself, but I've learned not to hold you to my own standards." She droned. "But regardless, as I was saying: SHUSH can handle the macro of the operation, so to speak, but the raid itself would go all the smoother with your… incomparable help. If there is anything I must admit about you, it's that Darkwing puts criminals into exactly the kind of mindset we'll need them to have."

Darkwing wasn't quite so egotistical that he needed to ask what exactly that state of mind was – it would only lead to an insult, he knew – but it was hard nonetheless. "The Fear of Darkwing, eh? And I suppose the fact that something this big would attract me anyway doesn't hurt. Wouldn't want me stumbling onto a complicated situation again, would you?"

Navis didn't deny it. Instead, she continued her explanation. "This has to be coordinated perfectly. And despite the wealth of targets that are liable to be there, it pains me to say that apprehending the Pirates, _exclusively,_ and recovering key intel must be Priority #1!"

"Understood. Good to be back on the same wavelength, Director Navis," Darkwing replied, raising his hand to shake. Navis didn't move at first. "Oh come on, Director." Darkwing said, throwing her a big, obvious pout. "Friends?"

With the look of a babysitter dealing with an overactive toddler, which Darkwing found slightly offensive, Navis sighed and accepted his hand, "For now, Darkwing. For now." The moment they were no longer shaking, she withdrew her hand politely. "We'll send you a list of the most pivotal items on the Pirates' docket."

"How about that? It really _does_ feel like being part of the family."

Navis just gave him an unimpressed look, silently asking if he was serious.

"Force of habit." He chuckled to himself. "Anything else?"

"Mmm…" Navis hummed, thinking the question over. She hadn't dismissed him yet, which was a good sign that there _was_ something, but she seemed insecure about continuing. Darkwing chalked up to the usual trust issues, even if they were now officially working together.

If an idea had come to her, she was likely wrestling with herself over whether to bring Darkwing into it further, no matter how small. Annoying, true, but it was the kind of thing they would have to work through. He wondered if they did espionage relationship counseling.

Finally, the inner wrestling match came to an end, and the side that wanted more cooperation seemed to win. "Well…" she said slowly, as she was still mulling the idea over. "In the interest of goodwill, there is _one_ other matter that you-"

A sudden shrill noise – a pair of them, no less – filled the room: abruptly interrupting Navis last business opportunity, whatever it may have been. Two alarms went off at the same time: one, on Darkwing's wrist. The other, significantly louder, coming from Navis' desk. Despite the distraction factor, both immediately turned their attention only to their own.

"Another burst of interdimensional activity!" The two said simultaneously.

"Point of Connection… the Negaverse." Navis continued. "As if there were any doubt."

Darkwing grimaced. "Looks like our uninvited guest is making another visit."

But Navis shook her head. "No, we haven't detected anyone leaving this universe since the last flare." She explained. "Perhaps said guest has invited friends to join him."

"If they have, they're in for a poor welcome. Let's get dangerous!"

" _You_ get 'dangerous' on your own time!" She barked. Navis threw out a single finger, gesturing for Darkwing to stay put. "SHUSH will ensure this situation is resolved smoothly, and without… complications."

"You're not serious."

"You want to continue working with SHUSH, then you need to finally learn to _follow_. Plain and simple!" At Navis' sharp glare, Darkwing narrowed his eyes to match. "So sit right there and wait for instruction."

Considering the matter settled, Navis pulled a landline phone from out of her desk. She turned away from Darkwing, as if somehow doing so would close him off from the conversation, and began talking rapidly into the receiver. "Yes, Lieutenant! I want three squads converging on the location within five minutes. Don't let this one slip through the cracks."

The person on the line spoke for some time, no doubt asking all sorts of clarifying questions. Navis frowned slightly, but otherwise kept her cool demeanor in the face of her agents' unease.

"It _is_ a veritable unknown, but you'll be joined by a special agent with some experience in these matters. He will …" She glanced up to the chair she had left Darkwing, only to – she should have guessed – find nothing but air. "… meet you there on his own..." she corrected, seething under her breath.

Calmly, politely, she bid her agent good luck and put the phone away. To her credit, there was no overblown rants or frustrated. She only leaned back with a dull, groaning "…of course…"

Outside of her office, a swooping purple blur leapt from the headquarters' marble walls and hopped upwards, scaling its way up into the surrounding skyline.

"Sorry, director. Darkwing Duck cannot be kept from a sticky situation, especially when the Negaverse is involved!" He tapped his communicator, grinning as a beloved face filled his tiny screen. "Crimson? We've got a problem…"

* * *

 _Misere Blvd, Bad Part of Town_

In St. Canard, the turn of phrase "seen better days" was most widely used in reference to the Old Haunt – patron bar of half the city's lowlifes – and the blighted neighborhood which surrounded it. But even that hive of cutthroats and skullduggery was considered a far safer spot for the most milquetoast of tourists than the neighborhood but a hop, skip and jump away from it.

Misere Boulevard was named for early 20th Century St. Canard Mayor Shelducques Misere, the politician who incompetently drove the city into an unprecedented era of poverty and lawlessness before being arrested for taking bribes from no less than 17 distinct criminal and benign organizations. His tenure was such a black mark on St. Canard's history that only the time Negaduck had the city in his clutches has ever been considered a worse period, and even then the citizens were mostly content – if brainwashed. As such, all lasting effects from Misere's time were scoured from the city, except for the single woebegotten street named after him. Since then, the people who lived there have done his legacy proud, with decades of corruption and neglect turning his namesake into a disgusting, violent blemish on an already morally ambiguous city.

The short of this being that this stretch of road was not _quite_ the best part of town. And yet, in the street's most putrid of alleys, a swirl of energy grew at the center of nothing at all – a portal leading to an entire realm that was often _far_ worse.

Once it was big enough, a figure stepped calmly out of the portal – one boot at a time. The new arrival – a very determined duck - sidled into the alley, inspecting their entry point with a shrewd eye. Once certain of their location, they turned their eyes to the city to plot their next move…

"Suck gas, evil doer!"

The shout came from above, and instinctively the multiversal visitor dipped further into the alley - into the shrouds of darkness that this part of town was famous for.

The Duck Knight dropped from the rooftops in a flash of purple and landed directly in front of the alley, gas gun drawn and ready to fire. A second later, he was joined by a flash of red and white.

"What he said," the Crimson Avenger added, smirking. Both father and daughter kept their eyes trained on the intruder, waiting for an excuse to move.

The visitor's features were hidden by the shade, but the uncomfortable reaction to their unexpected meeting was easy to see. They slipped back, arms raised – not in fear, but almost in some sort of wave.

"Um… hello…" came the resigned response.

Darkwing stopped short. That voice was a heck of a surprise, at least to hear on that side of the alley. He lowered his gas gun slowly, not sure what the heck was going on. Beside him, Crimson dropped her stance completely.

"Wait, what?" Crimson asked, confused.

The shadowy figure turned away, "Maybe this wasn't the best idea." The admission was anxious, almost apologetic. "I should probably expl-"

"FREEZE, INVADER!"

In a flash that would have made Darkwing proud – were he not embarrassed to have not heard them coming - that they were all completely surrounded by SHUSH agents. And each had something a lot more deadly than a gas gun pointed at the alley.

The situation was officially escalated. Darkwing made a mental note to "thank" Navis for her punctuality.

In the interest of not turning into swiss cheese, Crimson jumped forward and put her hands out. "Wait! I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding! Lower your weapons!"

The agents didn't move, so Crimson instead threw a pointed stare at the visitor, who immediately put their hands up without a fight and sauntered into the light. Darkwing just watched - realizing who had called the alert had momentarily left him too annoyed to do anything but wait for the situation to cool down.

Her masked face was unmistakable. After all, there was another just like it standing right there. Not that Darkwing wouldn't have recognized that sheepish expression anywhere – even these days, his own baby girl got her hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar all too often for him not to.

"NegaCrimson?" He said, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. "What the…"

Crimson's doppleganger chuckled awkwardly, looking around at the incredulous superhero, her baffled double, and the dozen or so confused secret agents aiming at her.

"Not exactly the welcome wagon I was expecting, I'll admit..."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** One doesn't become a dimensional traveler without accidentally walking into a wall of guns at least once.

Begin story arc two! A lot of trouble brewing in this one. This marks the first extended appearance of of NegaHonker in the NADWD-verse, after being mentioned a few times. That scene of the Fearsome Five slamming a door in his face is a gag I've been waiting for for a while, but don't count him out just yet. He's cleverer than he seems. We also have Darkwing's big meeting with Navis. Rest easy: unlike her boss her hardness comes from better place. I wanted to make sure I got Navis just right in regards to what Scyphi intended, and she's become very fun to write.

No Duck reference today, but the story does have a few tv and movie references spun in there: my favorite being a Monk reference in the scene with Glomgold and Plumis. See if you can find it!

As it is, the plot thickens as the Air Pirates plan their dangerous rendezvous. The Invitations are set, and now all that's left are the **Preparations...** which you'll see next time, when the story continues!


	6. Thieves Paradise: Preparations

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Thieves' Paradise Pt. 2 - Preparations  
**

* * *

 _Darkwing Tower, Later On,  
_

The NegaCrimson Avenger stood impatiently in the midst of the buzz of Darkwing Tower. It was irritating, all this pomp and circumstance just to assemble for a talk… but she supposed the preferred it this way. NegaDuck had spent so long trying to destroy this place and crush the people within it that it was nice just to see them doing what they were born to without fear.

Crimson was at her side – they had talked the whole way there, and she was only now trying to find a new topic of conversation. She didn't get much of that in the NegaVerse. Techno was at the computer, logging in their encounter on Misere Boulevard. Launchpad was out of the room, in the tower's galley getting a quadruple decker sandwich. And Darkwing – whose presence she perhaps appreciated most of all, besides Crimson's - was pacing back and forth, restless as always and waiting for Techno to finish.

Every moment, casual or intense, was like a sneer in her father's direction.

But now that they were all settled, her eyes were thus drawn to the elephant in the room – or perhaps the cat standing off to the sidelines. She was there, leaning against a metal beam and casually watching the conversations: NegaCrimson recognized her as top SHUSH agent Mia Gingivere – a sight which seemed highly out of place. She had spent a lot of time with – though mostly against – Darkwing and his team, and SHUSH agents didn't typically hang out in their private areas. Agent Gingivere didn't even seem all that interested to be there, which made it all the more confusing for NegaCrimson that she was there in the first place.

"Well…" she said, sardonic wit as obvious as she could make it. "I didn't know you and SHUSH had gotten to the point where you were sharing living space."

Darkwing chuckled awkwardly. He was pulling at his collar, which she didn't much like. "Well, you see… SHUSH's stake in what's going on has been… er… _altered_ somewhat."

"My new boss doesn't trust you." Mia explained bluntly, cutting to the chase. Darkwing winced. "But don't mind me. I'm here to help."

"O…kay…" NegaCrimson mulled this over slowly, with healthy amounts of disbelief. "What, do you think I'm here to blow up the city or something?"

Mia shrugged. " _I_ don't, no. Like I said: here to help."

"Right…" came the sighing reply. "Let's just table that. I've got bigger things to worry about. Like the guy I followed here who is _actually_ causing trouble.

"By all means," Darkwing said. "Answers, please!"

Nodding solemnly, NegaCrimson walked over to the computer and plugged in a flash drive, ignoring Techno's insistence that he only had to finish two logs, tops. The data inside downloaded quickly – the benefit of one of the most powerful operating systems on the planet – and once it was done she politely pushed Techno out of the way and brought the content inside up on the big screen.

A slight gasp rang through the crowd. Launchpad entered the room with his sandwich and promptly dropped his mustard on the ground. And Techno ceased all complaints and stared wide-eyed at the screen.

It was, after all, the familiar face of Herbert "Honker" Muddlefoot. The one on the screen wore prescription sunglasses and had a rugged scar down his cheek, but the resemblance was – obviously – uncanny.

"You all know him as NegaHonker," NegaCrimson explained. "He's a pretty nasty thorn in my side, and now yours apparently."

"Yeah, I remember him." Crimson said, eyeing Techno's surprised reaction. "We stole his clothes once. But we didn't get acquainted much."

"Lucky you." Darkwing said. "As I recall, he tried to roast me alive back when he was a kid." He also glanced at the version he was used to. "It was a _very_ surreal experience, to say the least."

NegaCrimson nodded, remembering that incident herself. "He hasn't gotten any less nasty with age. Used to be, he was one of NegaDuck's top enforcers. When something needed squashing that my father considered beneath his own notice, Honker or one of his minions would take care of it."

Crimson stepped forward and put her hand on Techno's shoulder, He had so far just stared at the screen, seemingly not following the conversation. She knew how he felt: if not for all the strangeness she had been experienced in her life, it would have been impossible to envision a brutal assassin wearing the face of the mild-mannered boy she grew up with.

"Now he's one of the last remaining players still loyal to NegaDuck." NegaCrimson continued. "After our Hooter broke off and took command of his own faction, he usurped the leadership position that would technically have gone to Launchpad, and is now spearheading the resistance against me." Despite the harsh truth, she smirked. "Unfortunately for him, it's not going well. The NegaVerse may be a grim place, but its people are getting sick and tired of the people who make it worse."

"A general without an army, eh?" Launchpad joked.

NegaCrimson nodded, chuckling. "You could say that. He just doesn't have the force of will for this kind of thing. Even those who _would've_ joined up were NegaDuck still around are now only out for themselves. The loyalists are up a creek."

"So now NegaHonker is _here_ trying to recruit instead?" said Agent Mia. NegaCrimson shot her a blank look, but answered just the same.

"Yes, but…" She trailed off, looking pensive. "Something's off. He's too exposed for it to just be that. There's something specific here in the Posiverse that he's after, I'm sure of it."

Techno spoke up for the first time, though it was in a very low voice. "What is it?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's not good. I…" She faltered over her words for a moment, but quickly caught herself. " _We've_ been tracking him for ages, trying to get a bead on what he's planning."

Crimson, who had been looking back and forth between NegaHonker and her Techno the whole time, now turned straight to NegaCrimson. She hadn't missed the slip of the tongue. NegaCrimson averted her eyes. "The guy may be a violent thug," she said, covering her awkward feeling, "but he's not stupid."

Darkwing, on the other hand, _had_ missed the slip – or at least didn't react to it. "Yeah?" He said, getting himself fired up. "Well, neither are we!"

"Hear hear, DW!" Launchpad cheered.

"We're gonna need to know everything you've got about this faker and his M.O." Darkwing said to NegaCrimson, soaking up the praise. He quickly turned to Agent Mia, so fast she jumped in surprise. "Mia, if you'd take that info back to SHUSH, it'd be greatly appreciated."

"Well, I wasn't planning on keeping it to myself." Five blank faces, even Launchpad's, stared at her. She cringed. "Nothing? Come on, I thought that was a _little_ funny."

"In any case, we've got work to do," Techno said, still in that low voice. He continued to stare at NegaHonker's picture, looking disgusted. "I think we should get to it."

Nobody had truer words to give. They all broke off, after that. Mia stuck with Launchpad – the sandwich, it turned out, was to be shared between them. Over her shoulder, Crimson saw Darkwing clap his hand on Techno's shoulder and remained with him at the computer.

She smiled: she of course wanted to talk to Techno – to Honker – about this strange situation soon herself, but there was nobody on the planet with more experience with dealing with the existential crisis of evil dopplegangers than her father. Techno would be just fine for now. Which meant she had a moment to talk with her own no-longer-evil doppleganger.

NegaCrimson had quickly found herself the most secluded-but-not-completely-remote corner of the HQ, and was intently going over

She approached quietly, not wanting to startle her. At least, not before she got close enough that her double couldn't avoid conversation: Crimson knew herself, and her other self, too well.

"I heard your slip of the tongue back there," she said as she was right at NegaCrimson's shoulder, and she had to smirk at the way the former assassin jumped. So much more her detached demeanor.

"What?" NegaCrimson snapped, annoyed enough at the surprise that she didn't think to deny anything right away. Just as Crimson thought.

"You've been going after NegaHonker by yourself, haven't you?" Crimson said, not slowing down. NegaCrimson's eyes widened when she realized she'd been caught. "I mean, I'm sure your allies are on the lookout for him, but this manhunt is your baby, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" NegaCrimson said, feeling defensive."It's nothing I haven't done before."

"I suppose, but..." Crimson replied, feeling a bit awkward. "You didn't even _ask_ us! SHUSH nearly gunned you down, because you weren't inclined to ask for clearance. There's being focused and then there's being... well... reckless. Obsessive, even. Do the Friendly Four even know you're doing this?"

It was a sharp question. Perhaps too pointed, for NegaCrimson only muttered out something vaguely along the lines of "I'm used to working alone."

Crimson sensed her double was closing up on that front, so she tried another tactic. "In that case... how's the Negaverse _itself_ doing these days? Rebuilding and replacing, and all. This has to have taken you away from that for a long time."

"It's doing fine, I'm sure." NegaCrimson crossed her arms, looking around evasively. "Despite our reputation, I'm not the only person in the Negaverse capable of doing anything positive, you know."

"I didn't say that, but I figured you would personally be doing a bit more rallying and reforming yourself these days. You're kind of the point woman to the Negaverse's revolution – proverbially, as Honk-man would say." She paused when NegaCrimson gave her a look. _"My_ Honk-Man, anyway. But my point is, people look up to you. You're a symbol. An icon. Maybe even a leader, someday."

" _I'm nobody's idol!"_ NegaCrimson snapped, suddenly hissing and angry. But Crimson stood her ground, impassive, until her double calmed down. "…sorry. You just remind me of NegaLiquidator. Always going on about how I'm supposed to 'inspire our constituents.'"

"He's a smart guy." Crimson replied. "Smarter than _our_ Liquidator was, anyway."

"Well, I disagree." NegaCrimson said bitterly. "You know full well what I am."

Crimson frowned. " _What_ you are?"

NegaCrimson rose to her feet, her teeth clenched in a furious grimace. "Yes, _what_ I am! I'm not some messiah come to lead the Negaverse into a bright and glorious future. I'm a weapon." She absentmindedly crumpled the files in her hands into a ball – luckily, the computer could always print more. "I spent my whole life being molded into one, with barely an identity of my own."

She looked away, towards the nearest window. Her eyes sank far into the skyline of St. Canard. "In the end, all that happened was that I ended up being fired on the same monster that made me in the first place."

"You can't believe that," Crimson sighed.

"I accepted it a long time ago." NegaCrimson spat, continuing to pull these long suppressed rants out. "Now everyone expects me to be some kind of leader. But I'm good at _this._ Hunting down targets. Disrupting their plans. Picking apart their attempts at escape. So I'm here. Doing this."

"I feel like I ought to ask again. Do the Friendly Four know you're here?"

NegaCrimson rolled her eyes. "Yes, _mother._ They're not happy about it, but they agreed it's for the best."

"Listen… NegaCrimson…" She stopped herself, and her voice dropped to a softer tone. " _Gosalyn."_ Negacrimson raised an eyebrow, but took the cue to listen - if hesitantly. "You may not think you're an inspiration, but you _totally_ are! You _chose_ to believe in yourself and take down NegaDuck – _twice –_ even though breaking off from all the darkness you knew your whole life had to be the hardest thing you ever had to do. Twice!"

NegaCrimson didn't turn around. "You said 'twice' twice." She said flatly.

"Just listen. You deserve better, and you want to _be_ better, but its gonna be hard. The change you're going through, it's exactly what the Negaverse as a whole is going through. You are a sign to everybody there that it's possible! Even if you're not going to be a leader, they need to see you be… well… you."

"'Being me' means being _here."_ NegaCrimson said stiffly, though she at least looked back that time. Crimson wondered if Techno often felt like this stuck when arguing with her. "You think you know me so well, don't you?"

"You better believe it, sister."

NegaCrimson looked taken aback. "Sister?"

Crimson groaned. "It's a figure of speech, jeez. Although…" she gave her double a devilish grin. "I guess being twins from across the Negaverse does make us _kind of_ like-"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence." NegaGosalyn snapped again, though it was far more good-natured this time. With an ironic smirk, she finally turned completely away from the window and jerked her head back towards the others. "Come on, let's see if they found any leads in the – what – two minutes we were gone."

Crimson sighed to herself, but shrugged and turned around anyway – at least she tried. Before they left, NegaCrimson grabbed her shoulder.

"And…" her double said awkwardly. "Thanks. For the talk. I do appreciate it."

Crimson smiled. Maybe there was hope for the Negaverse yet. "Any time…"

* * *

 _Midtown, The Next Day_

Julia was running out of time, and she knew it. How could she forget it?

Glomgold's ultimatum had given by the end of the week to turn in some results, and the weekend was fast approaching. She had exhausted leads, turned in favors, chased down contacts… and there was barely anything to find. Darkwing's secret identity had remained secret for a reason – everyone knew that – and the stone walls in every direction were starting to get to her.

This task was impossible. Glomgold knew that before he gave it to her. And it wouldn't be long before the foul old fowl used it as an excuse to take everything away from her.

But she couldn't give up. She wouldn't.

Which was why she was sitting in the depths of an old tavern, waiting for exactly the kind of lawless informant that had gotten her in trouble in the first place to return and bring her some good news. It was a nice, upscale place – not at all like the seedy joints that were usually cliché for this sort of thing – but just being there made her feel dirty regardless.

She sat alone, tracing the ring of her shot glass - one of several she really shouldn't have had today.

So wrapped up in her problems was she that she didn't notice the footsteps approaching her booth until someone – a well groomed marten – walked up and politely cleared his throat.

She muttered a greeting – it was probably some joker with too much bravado. She expected she could to get rid of him quickly.

Or so she thought. She opened her mouth to say something dismissive, but to his surprise his mind stepped forward to take the conversation himself. "My name's Cal."

She stopped, before she could shoo him away. She knew she had recognized that face before! "Cal? As in, Cal McClure? The newspaper reporter?"

"The one and the same. And you're Julia Plumis. Loved your story on the Oilrabian energy crisis." He sat down across from her. "So, now that we're all acquainted…"

"What do you want?" She sighed, kicking herself for being so brusque. "Pardon me for being rude, but this table is taken for something important."

"I won't be more than a couple of minutes." He said, sinking further into the chair anyway. "I just needed to confirm something."

"What would that be?"

"Someone's been digging around about Darkwing. Someone good." He said pointedly. She frowned. "The average busybody wouldn't notice, but I consider myself a good reporter. And I know how other good reporters think."

Plumis remained silent. She tried not to look down at her hands.

"Whoever it is, you can tell they know what they're doing." He went on. "But they're not covering their tracks as well as they could. I figured they were desperate, or green, or both. Rattling the trees a bit too hard. So word got back to me."

Julia clenched her fists under the table, trying not to show a reaction. If he wanted to press her, he would have to do better than that.

"Not to sell it short, though." He smiled. "I haven't had to actually _pay_ an informant in ages."

"So?" She said, again more sharp than she should have been.

Cal shrugged. "Let's just say I'm very sensitive to the subject of Darkwing's identity."

"I _meant,"_ she pressed, trying to get rid of him with edge. "Why tell me about it?"

"I thought you would want to know. Being another good reporter and all." He said simply. For a moment he let that hang, both of them staring at each other, before continuing with a laugh. "And if that line doesn't work on you, how about a question: that is your guy Stewie the Pigeon loitering outside, isn't it?"

She glanced looked out the window: her informant _was_ there, to her irritation. Stewart Byrd – called "the Pigeon" because he was an action pigeon, but because people knew he was a stoolie – looking shabby and scarred as usual. He was leaning against the building, no doubt waiting for Cal to leave before coming in.

"I never did like that guy." Cal noted, as an aside. "Good information, but the way he gets that info… really, an awful human being."

Julia fought a wave of disappointment in herself. She didn't like using Stewie's either. "What do you want from me?" She choked out.

"I want you to leave Darkwing alone." He said bluntly. Suddenly, his jovial demeanor was gone. "His identity is a secret for a reason. He's done too much for this city – for _all of us_ – for us to expose him."

Julia remained silent. It wasn't lost on her that a week ago it would've been her defending Darkwing that way.

Cal took her silence for indifference. "Honestly," he growled. "Didn't he _actually_ save your life a few months ago? And this is how you repay him?"

"It was Gizmoduck, technically." She corrected automatically.

"Does that _matter?_ " Cal snapped. People around them started to glance in their direction, so he forced his voice lower. "From your earlier stories, I thought you understood what Darkwing meant to this city. But if that's all it was – just a _story_ that you can make the bank on?" So that was it. He thought she was doing this for personal profit. Somehow that assumption hurt worse than anything.

"Believe it or not, I've been there." He finished. "But I've learned better. If you're going to keep pursing this, I-"

Her blood boiled. The guilt was too much already, and being prodded like this wasn't helping. "I don't have a choice!" She blurted out, before she could catch herself.

Cal's eyes widened. "What?"

She closed her eyes and looked away. "I have to expose Darkwing, or I…" She trailed off. "Do you think I _want_ to do this? Darkwing saved my life more than once before. I owe everything to him. But… everyone has their price. And I just learned mine."

"If you're in trouble, Darkwing can help you," Cal said, reaching for her hand with concern. His aggression was gone.

She pulled her hand away. "I wish I could believe that. But I don't think there's anything he can do about this."

"You'd be surprised. I… I shouldn't be telling you this, but…" He checked around to make sure nobody was listening, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I meant it when I said I'd been where you are."

"I was looking for Darkwing's secret too." He looked into the distance, reminiscing. "Thought it'd make me rich. But then, by sheer chance, I got everything I wanted and never asked for. Long story short, a FOWL science project landed in my hands. It gave me the ability to read minds, more or less."

"What!?" She shouted, a bit too loud. People definitely shot looks in their direction now. She dropped her voice again, but the

"Relax. I can't do it any more. But for a while there, I thought I had it made. Then FOWL came after me, and everything went wrong." He shook his head, a look of what seemed to be awe on his face. "And yet, with FOWL gunning for him and even though I would've been nothing but trouble for him, he still went out of his way to save me."

He tried to catch Plumis' eye, to make his point clear. But instead she turned to the side again, and this time she made no indication that she would be opening up again – but for the anxious biting of the inside of her lip.

Cal shook his head sadly. He could see he had said all he would be allowed to. "I've been here long enough." He sighed. "Just… think about it. I can't help you. But _he_ can. You've got to believe that."

With that, he stood up and left the restaurant – leaving Julia with a lot to think about. A few minutes later, Stewie the Pigeon walked in a plopped down into the open seat, kicking up a cloud of what she chose to believe was dust.

"So, who wuz the pencilneck?" He said by way of greeting.

"Nobody that matters." Julia said. "Did you find anything?"

"Aw, is that any way to greet an' ol' friend?" He gasped, ignoring the fact that he hadn't said so much as 'hello' to her either.

"Did you or did you not?" She pressed. She didn't want to be here with him a second longer than she had to.

"Alrigh', alrigh', keep yer skirt on," he grunted. "Y've really changed, y'know that? Guess y'get all high an' mighty when y' get yerself a new life an' all."

Julia scowled at him. For a moment, after the emotionally draining conversation with Cal and the tension she was facing overall, she thought she might stand up and throttle him.

"Righ', whatever." He said, shrugging. "So I didn't find nothin' about who the caped clown was. Makes sense. If it were that easy, some clever crook would'a done it years ago."

"So why are you here?" She said through gritted teeth.

Stewie grinned. "Cause I know where he's probably _gonna_ be."

She tensed. That _was_ interesting news, if she could figure out a good way to take advantage of it. "Where?"

"You heard'a the Air Pirates?" Stewie asked. She nodded. "Rumor is they got their hands on some ol' SHUSH and FOWL swag, along with a whole buncha other stuff they're not s'posed t' have." He raised a finger in front of his face, reveling in the dramatic tension. "They're holdin' some kinda auction in town in soon. Tomorrow, the rumors say."

"Auction?" Julia repeated. That _was_ interesting. "Who are the buyers?"

"Ev'rybody, luv. SHUSH. FOWL. Davidsons. Even hear tell'a cloak n' dagger types from Thembria makin' a visit. Ev'ryone'n town, 'cept the Fearsome Five, it seems." He grinned toothily. "They got some nerve, them pirates."

Those were some rumors. Big and unbelievable, but if they came from Stewie the Pigeon, they were probably true. An event to lure some of the biggest names in espionage and criminal intrigue to one spot? Her reporter senses were tingling, despite the nasty situation she was in.

And… old FOWL assets… the beginning of an idea was forming. Something Cal mentioned gave her a crazy, horrible idea for a possible way out. It would need some thought – although on that note, something else Cal said was nagging her as well. More than a few somethings, truthfully, but for now…

"And how did you get this information, Stewart?"

"Watch t' full name, sweetheart! Loads'a folks wanna piece a' this pie. I had t' slit a half-dozen throats just to get a shot'a th' door. Didn't work out, tho'."

She stared at him, horrorstruck.

"I'm kiddin', sugar." He grinned again, showing off rows of chipped beak. "Prob'ly." He gestured to the bar. "Buy me a drink?"

She had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Drunk Stewie was far worse than sober Stewie. So instead, she stood. "Thanks for the tip, Stewie. I'll call if I need more info," She said dully, before adding – with an air of sarcasm… "I can always count on you."

"Don' I know it!" He laughed. But there was something menacing behind his mirth, something that made Julia hate speaking to him. "Shame this is t' first time y' asked fer me in so long. Guess y' didn't think y' needed t' rest'a us. But don' you let that spot on t' news fool ya!"

Only sparing him a last disdainful glower, she turned her back on his laughter and walked out the door.

Stewie didn't bother watching her leave, and instead waived the waiter over for a pint. The waiter, however, noticed her sudden exit with a frown.

"She sure left in a hurry. Shame, she seemed down."

He shook his head sadly, but jumped to see the smirk on Stewie's face. "Don't you worry none. From what I hear'a the net she's in, she won't be so high'n mighty fer long…"

"What?"

Annoyed, Stewie waved the waiter back to the bar. "Ah, enough'a ya. Go get me a drink, already…"

* * *

 _Duckburg, Standard Preen Co. Inc.,_

Techno had to admit, The headquarters of the Rockerduck family's corporate empire was a bit more his speed than Scrooge's Money Bin. The question of ethics aside, Scrooge McDuck always kept his businesses as they had been the day he acquired them, with only the most minimal changes and expenses he could as made necessary by the steady push of process. It was like walking into a museum, sometimes.

But Standard Preen was sleek and modern – yet not egregiously so. Everything was efficient and full of substance, yet not flashy and braggadocious like the Mark Beaks' of the world. He could understand why some might appreciate the mix of old fashioned business sense and nouveau acceptance of big ideas that Rockerduck – despite being Scrooge's contemporary – held over him. The guy knew how to take a risk on something unfamiliar, that much was obvious.

That said, Techno didn't need to remind himself that – between the two – only one of them had dabbled in risks too harmful and dangerous to exist.

Though John D. Rockerduck's father had started this company with a handcart full of preen oil, soap and other toiletries more than a century ago, Standard Preen Co. Inc obviously did a bit more than making pharmaceuticals today. Their research and development wing – the part that held most of his interest today – was outright distracting.

They didn't let him see anything they weren't required to, but he could practically smell the research in the air. One of the things Honker Muddlefoot just couldn't resist was an introduction to a new idea. But the other thing was certain redhead's prodding. And he knew Gosalyn would kill him if he let himself nerd out right now. He had one job here today: the Tron Manipulator.

Or as Rockerduck's staff were lovingly calling it: the Acclimatization Enhancer. No doubt they thought they would get past scrutiny if it just had a vague, corporate kind of name. But it was still definitely a Tron Manipulator. There was, functionally, little difference. He didn't even need to do a deep inspection of its workings to figure that out – though he did one anyway. Everything, from its power source to the delivery method, was comparable to the other runs at this tech he had seen before.

Well, there was one difference. This one was a wonderful shade of blue. _Much_ more appealing.

"I'm sorry," he eventually explained to a crowd of nervous looking scientists – with a single grumpy Rockerduck at the front, "I'm going to have to go with SHUSH's ruling here. There's no way a product like this will ever be acceptable for the general population. I understand the appeal of being able to easily 'reform' criminals, but this is basically a mind control gun."

The scientists looked uneasily at each other, looking almost surprised. The implications seemed to have slipped their notice completely, which – given the force of personality leading the project – actually wasn't that unbelievable.

"In its purest form, maybe," Rockerduck responded, gracefully and with an obviously false politeness. "But you're not thinking of the big picture!" He turned to his employees and added, as an aside. "Something I regretfully expected from a kid who dresses up in a Halloween costume and tries punching crime into submission."

Underneath his visor, Techno's eyes' narrowed.

"I've heard of this supposed 'big picture' before. I'm not a fan."

"It does put you out of a job, I suppose," Rockerduck said snidely, "but think about it for a moment! Criminals, rehabilitated without further taxpayer expense! Prospective criminals deterred before anyone can come to harm! And that's just the legal side to things. Imagine the medical applications: therapy will become a thing of the past, for patients can simply use trons to wash their woes away."

' _ **Brain**_ _wash, more like it,'_ Techno thought to himself, though he thought it counterproductive to say so out loud. So instead, he put it out straight. "All done by removing the victim's free will and rewiring their minds so that they can't think normally," He said. "I know the lure of the kind of fruit this can bear: it seems perfect, but it's actually rotten. You'd be warping people for the sake of conformity."

Rockerduck scowled, in such a way that Techno wondered if he _had_ thought about such things before - but chose not to care. Perhaps he and Glomgold were not so different after all.

"In my day," he grumbled. "Heroes were heroes because they knew which drums they needed to march by. It's how they got the job done!"

"And in _my_ day," Techno shot back, "tycoons are expected to act in the interest of the people around them, not just themselves."

Rockerduck snarled, and stoop up straight with a new, defiant air. "Intelligent words," he scoffed, turning away. "But I'm afraid we won't be dismantling our most developed project without a full court order."

" _You_ might not," Techno responded, already taking note of the parts that would easiest to handle. "But _I_ was given the authority to seize it if it's deemed a danger to the public. Which it became about five minutes ago when I confirmed it was."

The tycoon's jaw dropped. "B-but… I can't commit that kind of immediate manpower right now! There are delicate processes that only certified experts can handle! And most of mine are… er… busy, on other things."

This was probably true, and also probably a deflection. The more time they gave Rockerduck, the more time he would have to make a case out of this, or hide the research for later use, or something else that was petty and highly inconvenient.

"Then I'll do it myself." Techno said bluntly, speaking pointedly over Rockerduck's many complaints. "I'll be back tomorrow. Er…" He winced, thinking about the Pirates Auction. It would be happening at some point the next day, but they didn't know exactly when yet. Still, this needed to be done ASAP – typically fair in defeat or not, he didn't fully trust Rockerduck – and maybe if he started in the early afternoon it wouldn't be a problem. "… yeah. Like I said. Tomorrow. I'll be back at two."

"We'll set out a fruit basket for you." "If you're done dismantling my business models, are we done?"

Techno just couldn't fight the irrepressible teenage cheekiness. "Well, that depends." He smirked. "Do you have any _other_ highly unethical experiments I should take a look at?"

Less than five minutes later, they had done everything short of _physically_ throwing him out of the building - which included threatening him with legal paperwork. Even a young man who had grown up adoring homework had his limits with _that_ particular brand of hell.

But it was worth it. Gosalyn would probably be happy to hear she had long since rubbed off on him. Either way, they couldn't get rid of him that easily. He would be back tomorrow to take apart the prototype, and confiscate their research if need be. Then they would have to deal with any cheek he sent their way.

Until then, he had other things to do. And so, making a mental note to think of something snappy to say upon his return, he activated his rocket boots and burst into the sky.

As he sped off, he failed to notice a cloaked and masked figure watching him leave from the shadows. A shame: if he had gotten to see its face, he might have noticed some very odd similarities…

* * *

 _Darkwing Tower, A Short Time Later_

As Techno arrived at the tower, Crimson and NegaCrimson were also just settling down from a night out. Supposedly to put the pressure on NegaHonker - but mostly to blow off some steam – the two of them went out on patrol together. It had clearly done some good: even NegaCrimson seemed content, for all that her true feelings tended to be an enigma.

The two waved as he approached, and Techno wondered if perhaps they had been waiting for him. If so, it didn't seem that they were waiting long. Knowing her sense of humor, Crimson would at least have been pretending to be annoyed – and NegaCrimson likely would have _actually_ been annoyed - if he had kept them waiting long.

"Hey there, Tech!" Crimson said cheerfully as he hovered inside the bridge. "How'd it go with the #2 on Duckburg's Worst Corporations' List? Or is it #3?"

Techno chuckled. "It's somewhere up there, but they're officially on notice." He strode over to his suit's hangar and ran a diagnostic. All seemed well, except the fuel was a little low again – it wasn't the first time recently his suit was underperforming on the proverbial miles per gallon, if he were honest.

Perhaps he needed to upgrade to a better source of power… something to worry about later, at the very least. So far, it hadn't seriously impacted his work, but a good engineer didn't leave even a _potentially_ dangerous problem hanging.

Making another mental note to shelve it for late, and an additional note this time reminding himself not to forget, he ran a full security check – force of habit, as Crimson had almost certainly done so already.

And speaking of which… "What about you guys? Good night hunting?" He said to the pair of dopplegangers. He chuckled at the idea of some unlucky thug having to face down two copies of the same heroine.

"We came out pretty well, actually. Stopped some guy named Chronoduck from stealing the diamond encrusted clock they've got on display downtown."

"I still can't believe you people put valuables like that wide out in the open in this universe," NegaCrimson mused, shaking her head in good natured pity. "It's like you're asking to be plundered."

Crimson rolled her eyes. "Yeah… well, he teleported away into the timestream after we beat him. Said something about meeting us again in the future. 'Or the past!'" She waved her hands dramatically, impersonating what Techno assumed to be Chronoduck's voice. "But since it's been ages and we're not inexplicably under the yoke of a megalomaniacal supervillain – again – I'm guessing nothing came of it."

Techno did a quick database check. "It looks like Darkwing put him in jail last week. Apparently we were there, but I don't remember it." He and Crimson shared a shrug. "I suppose we will once the timestream catches up. Anyway, he's still there now and his tech has been confiscated by SHUSH."

"Well, that settles that," Crimson said, waving the whole issue away. "I've had enough of time travelers for this stage in my life, wouldn't you say?"

That seemed like an odd thing to say, but Techno nodded along. "I suppose so."

The security sweep finished with an audible _ting_. Techno looked it over, but wasn't too worried. As expected, only authorized personnel were anywhere near the tower. Satisfied that they had their privacy, Techno went over to the combination storage and transport area to finally put away his suit.

The entry and exit points were now in a room locked and completely separate from the rest of the HQ, so that no prying eyes from the any outside windows could glimpse either the heroes' true identities or their method of transportation. It was a brilliant system, and Honker felt honored to have had the responsibility of improving it over the years.

It seemed Crimson and NegaCrimson really _had_ been waiting for him, because when he started for the lockers they were already pulling their costumes off. Soon there was one Honker Muddlefoot and two Gosalyn Mallards in the transport room, ready to zip back to the suburbs.

"So, what now?" Honker asked. Despite the patrols and missions, the night was still young – for a superhero, and especially for a teenager.

Gosalyn – his Gosalyn - sidled up to him, smirking. It was funny how easy it was to tell which was which, even given a little color variety: no matter many copies of her they ran into, he could _never_ mistake his own genuine article. "All that sci-fi was good for one thing," she said. "It got me in the mood for a Jumpgate marathon!"

Honker half-seriously rolled his eyes. He did like the show – even knowing that it was all a cover for a real conspiracy - but no one loved it quite to the extent Gosalyn did.

On the other hand, NegaGosalyn at least seemed interested. Maybe it was genetic.

"That show again?" she asked, genuinely curious. "You know, after everything, I don't think I ever sat down and watched an episode.

Gosalyn grinned widely. "Oh, you're going to love it." She said excitedly. "Especially when you remember it's all real. Well, most of it."

And with that, the three jumped into the transport tubes, coming out minutes later into the living room of the Mallard household. Gosalyn immediately had both of them freeze in place while she ran up the stairs to get her DVD collection – even though Honker had already seen it, and thus didn't have any need for extra dramatic flair.

However, one couldn't deny that dramatic flair was something of the Mallards' specialty, and Honker would be lying if he didn't admit it had rubbed off on him over the years.

While they waited, NegaGosalyn sat on the couch – looking like she was trying _not_ to look nervous. Honker understood: ever since she had joined their side, she had a habit of being unsure of what she should or shouldn't do. She didn't always realize how welcome she was here, among her friends.

To give her a sign without making it too obvious, Honker dropped onto the couch next to her and started up a conversation. The two weren't really close yet, but after all their group had gone through it would be a crime if they couldn't even talk.

"She'll be back in a minute," he said casually. "She's probably deciding which ones are the best to watch tonight. Eventually, she'll just give up and bring all of them."

NegaGosalyn took the invitation to talk with slightly less unease. "Honestly." She scoffed, glancing at the wall where the upstairs approximately was. "Everyone knows you have to leave your audience dying for more instead of giving them everything."

"Sounds like the Negaverse has a killer movie scene."

"You have no idea," she said, laughing. "So, how _did_ it go taking care of that tron manipulator? That's a hell of thing, even reading about it." She shuddered involuntarily. "If my father had something like that, he wouldn't have needed years of brainwashing."

It was a sign of how insane the life of a superhero could be that that comparison didn't make things awkward. "You guys don't have those over there?" He asked, a little surprised. The Negaverse had every _other_ weapon known to man, so one big absence was a little strange.

"I suppose my father killed the technology, possibly literally." She said, thinking to herself. "It makes sense. The only person in the Negaverse anyone would even think of using such a thing on was _him._ So it wouldn't have been the greatest deterrent."

"Heh," Honker smiled. "What do you know? Something even Negaduck was scared of."

"Don't let him hear you say that." She smirked. "In any case, I'd rather not see that sort of thing in any universe I frequent. It's taken care of, right? No problems?"

"I finish disassembling it tomorrow. Though I'll kind of miss it, I think." At NegaGosalyn's raised arrow, Honker laughed nervously and waved his hands dismissively. "Not like that. A powerful and dangerous project like that is an interesting mental challenge. I wasn't even sure how to approach Rockerduck's findings – it's not like Dr. Bellum was raring to share hers. So I had to do a lot of work. And helped me get my mind off the fact that I'll inevitably be facing off against my evil doppleganger soon."

NegaGosalyn stared at him. He sighed. "I'm the only one so far who hasn't had the pleasure." He point out, shuddering. Then he glanced at NegaGosalyn, looking quite sheepish as he realized what he said. "N-no offense, of course!"

NegaGosalyn chuckled at his nervous expression. Again, comments like that were a testament to just how much they had been through. "None taken." She said reassuringly. "It's definitely odd meeting someone who is _you_ , especially like this. Your Gosalyn and I have a…" She paused, fiddling with her shirt. It was stark red, in contrast to Gosalyn's preferred purple, but still quite similar. "… _surprising_ amount in common, actually. But my Honker is more like NegaDuck to your Darkwing: there are some similarities, but you're practically flipped."

Honker said nothing. NegaGosalyn poked him hard on the shoulder, making him yelp. "Just don't start down the thought train of 'what could have been' or 'how did I become like that' or whatever!" She said sharply. "You'll give yourself an existential headache."

Honker stared at her in shock, then slowly started to chuckle. She joined in with a chuckle of her own. And soon they were laughing together – a very odd situation to be sure, but worth a little mirth. Maybe they would be friends after all: Gosalyn would _never_ let this go.

Yet as NegaGosalyn calmed down, her laugh turned into a bitter smile. "I think he _does_ really hate you, you know."

Honker's brow furrowed, and he instinctively looked to the door where Gosalyn would hopefully be returning soon. "Why should he? We've never even met. Except the one time, but clothing robbery aside that was quick."

"Jealous, probably. NegaDuck… you see…" She stopped for a moment, to think of the best way to put it. "… he always wanted what Darkwing had, but better. He kept me around when I was a kid, but it wasn't until he saw how much your Gosalyn was growing under Darkwing's example that he wanted to make me into his agent. My Honker was the same way. NegaDuck brought him in specifically _because_ he saw you were so close to your Gos."

She frowned as bitter memories came back to her. "He tried to train him to be my sidekick, but that didn't last long. He was better at managing his own crew, and… I was better as a solo act..." Her eyes narrowed unconsciously. Techno patted her on the back – an unfamiliar gesture for her, but one that helped all the same. "So NegaDuck put him to work elsewhere. He's good at what he does, and ludicrously loyal, but to an extent he's been living in your shadow, unable to get what you have."

Techno stopped to process all of that. "Sounds like he was a nasty piece of work before all that, though."

"Oh, absolutely." NegaGosalyn chuckled. "Darkwing's little meeting with him is nothing. I actually lived _next door_ to the little demon. He " She shuddered, then stared at Techno – musing about things. "Crimson's lucky to have you."

Techno turned beet red. "W-what?" He said.

NegaGosalyn shook her head, eyes rolled, to dismiss any notion of his that this wasn't simply platonic. "I mean that you've always been by her side, through death and danger, ever since you were kids. Even when it's a bad idea. _Especially_ when it's a bad idea. That's admirable. You don't get that much in the Negaverse." She looked him earnestly in the eye. "You're good for each other."

So calmed down, Honker smiled wistfully. "Well… Gos inspires that kind of devotion."

"That she does." NegaGosalyn said softly, with a grin of her own.

As if on cue, at that moment Gosalyn finally returned with the JumpGate DVDs. Both turned to stare at her, and she stopped short – a little weirded out.

"Um… what are you guys talking about?"

"I made a pass at him, and he punched me in the beak," NegaGosalyn droned without missing a beat.

Honker's jaw dropped. He looked at her, aghast. Then to his Gosalyn. And then back and forth, like metronome. His mouth didn't seem to be working. But Gosalyn… after a dramatic moment, of course… just laughed.

"Funny," she said snidely. "But I think Honk-Man prefers _my_ sense of humor." She linked with Honker's stunned arm and led him into the living room. NegaGosalyn trailed behind them, chuckling to herself.

For his part, Honker still didn't seem capable of saying actual words yet, so he just shrugged and let her lead.

* * *

 _The Fearsome Dive, The Next Morning_

Meanwhile, Julia Plumis was being led to a far less enjoyable party. There was nothing for it: she had to admit Cal McClure was right. She _was_ getting desperate. And it was obviously starting to make her rusty.

She intended to sneak into the Fearsome Dive in an excellent disguise and subtly get herself a meeting with someone important, but none the wiser to her actual identity. Instead, within five minutes of showing up and asking vague questions she was picked up and dragged off the floor by a pair of gigantic but dopey looking reindeer – Hammerhead Hannigan's new gang.

Then she'd had a bag put over her head, she was turned upside down, and then was carried through an endless and dizzying about amount of left turns, right turns and u-turns though what she assumed was some kind of tunnel system, with few breaks. That is, one bathroom break for her, and four for one of the reindeer.

She gave him a good recommendation for a doctor who could check out his bladder issues, which he seemed to appreciate. It always helps to have connections.

Eventually, she was deposited into a hard and slightly damp floor, and the bag was whipped off of her head. She quickly realized she had - unfortunately, in retrospect - gotten that meeting she wanted after all.

Standing over her was nearly every member of the Fearsome Five, and they most of them looked quite unhappy. Suddenly, this conversation didn't seem as easy as her desperate idealism hoped it would be.

"You're kidding me. _Her?_ What's _she_ doing here?" Said a woman in the back. Julia recognized her as disgraced ex-news anchor Bianca Beakley - she was giving Julia a truly murderous glare, forcing her to turn away from the intensity.

Rowe grinned – a sinister thing given the position she was in. "Julia Plumis! Reporter extraordinaire!" He said brightly. Behind him, Beakley scowled deeper. "So, mate, what brings you to our humble abode?"

He gestured to the hideout, which was surprisingly spacious for a place that was presumably underground. The confusing path she had taken here had done its job. She had absolutely no idea where she was. She didn't even recognize this as part of the sewer system. There was no way at all she would be able to identify the Five's hideout beyond the fact that you could get there from the club, and the police already knew that.

"I'm here to talk, is all." She said, not sure if it was more dangerous to stand or to keep sitting. "I-I just didn't think it would be so rough, is all."

"If this is about another exclusive, the camera added ten pounds and half our team were pissed that they didn't get to be in it," Rowe replied, smirking. "So I think it's more trouble than it's worth."

"Ssso what do we do with her?" Said Camille the Chameleon, making Julia jumped. The mutant lizard-duck had been perched on the ceiling behind her, outside of her notice. She really was surrounded.

Beakley suddenly stepped forward, and grabbed Rowe and Bushroot's arms so tightly that they both winced. She glared at them, pleading in a way that Julia didn't much like the look of.

"W-well…" Bushroot said, wrenching himself form Beakley's grip, and speaking to Julia with soft politeness. "I think we'd be doing our cohort a disservice if we didn't let her hold you for ransom or something. Nothing personal, just good team management and all."

Bianca Beakley leered devilishly at her. The idea of being in that woman's cluches for any length of time made Julia's skin crawl. To think she had once looked up to that woman…

"Wait wait wait!" Julia said quickly. "I'm here to make an… an offer!"

"We don't need anything from that prissy little fake upstart!" Beakley growled.

"Oooh! Three negative adjectives! She must really hate you!" Quackerjack grinned, looking between Beakley and Julia. "Heh. I guess we all hate what we can't be."

"Shut your face, clown!" Beakley threw something small and non-threatening at him. Quackerjack didn't seem to notice.

"Are you sure we can't let Beakley have her?" Quackerjack said, sidling up to Bushroot and whining in her ear. "It sounds like it would be fun to watch!"

Julia looked to Beakley – who was looking more and more happy, in a malicious sort of way - and gulped. Quackerjack was mad, but had had more influence than most in the Five. Was this about to go seriously awry?

Truth be told, it wasn't even that she was scared of the mad reporter – though her old idol had definitely fallen into terrifying times. No, what really made her tense at the thought of being in her company was the bitter, broken glare in her eyes, and the desperate hatred that she seemed to express to everyone around her.

To Julia, Beakley was almost like a dark vision of what her future would be if this didn't work. And she didn't want to have that thought around to torment her for a second more.

"Listen to me!" She said sharply. Danger to the wind, she stood up to make sure they all heard. "You'll _want_ to hear this. If you don't, it's not my fault if you miss out on the score of the century!"

The members – particularly Rowe, Bushroot and Quackerjack – looked at each other for a moment. Then they roughly pushed Beakley to the back of the crowd, ignoring her furious "hey!", and silently conferred some more.

"Okay then!" Quackerjack said, after a long and actually rather terrifying wait. They way the others stared at her had not been reassuring. "Sell us your pitch, as Liquidator used to say."

Julia tried not to smile. Was this a ray of hope? "I'm sure you've heard of the big auction the Air Pirates are running tomorrow, right?"

Rowe raised an eyebrow. "Didn't get ourselves an invitation, can you believe it? But thank you for bringing up such a painful memory." He turned to the others jokingly. "Maybe we should hold her for ransom anyway."

He might have been joking, but Julia didn't want to know for sure. "I can get you in!" Julia shouted wildly. The assembled villains all stopped short – except for Beakley, who continued to rant ignored by all – and stared at her. The floor was hers: a sensation she was used to.

So now that she had their attention, she continued much more slowly and tried not to think of how much she hated every single word that was coming out of her mouth. Hopefully one day the city would forgive her. "I-I mean, I have an avenue for finding out when and where it's going to be. And I can share that information with you… for a price."

The assorted villains stared blankly at each other. "Is she… haggling with us?" Bushroot said.

"And why would an moral, upstanding reporter like yourself sell off info on such dangerous criminals?" Rowe asked with a false air of regality. "Let alone sell it to an only _slightly_ less grand criminal enterprise, mate?"

" _Slightly_ less?" Splatter Phoenix said dryly, from the corner.

"Yes, _slightly_ less." Said Rowe, childishly. "It's called the power of positive thinking, mate!"

" _Positive?_ That's unerringly delusional!"

Julia couldn't afford to wait. She spoke up, cutting off the possible argument. "I want inside, if and when you go." She said simply. "That's all."

Another blank stare. She was racking those up today.

Quackerjack jumped up to her, grinning in interest. "Hoo hoo! What an _interesting_ request! Why ever for?"

"I have my reasons."

Quackerjack howled with laughter. "Well, that clears things up." He said sarcastically, but she could see he was intrigued by the offer. Bushroot and Rowe also seemed to be warming up to the idea.

Beakley clearly noticed the same thing, because she suddenly threw herself in front of them, practically choking with rage.

"You can't seriously be considering this usurper's offer!" She whined, grabbing Bushroot's shoulders and shaking him like a maraca. Julia was getting a little tired of being called names, but she kept quiet. No use rocking the boat.

Ignoring the furious hissing coming from Camile's corner of the ceiling, Bushroot calmly pulled Beakley off of his shoulders and pushed her away. "Sorry, Beakley. Benefit for the group outweighs individual revenge. It's in the charter."

"You guys have a charter?" Julia asked, surprised.

Beakley snarled at her. "Don't you go playing reporter, you slime!" She turned back to Bushroot. "I called _dibs! Dibs,_ you cretins! Have you no shame?! _"_

"Dibs are an informal contract only upheld by the foolish or the overly virtuous! Every crook knows that!" Quackerjack said, with mocking sagacity. Julia – who hadn't disrespected a dib in over a decade – cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Besssidesss," Camille said loudly. One might imagine she was still annoyed by Beakley's close contact with Bushroot. "It'sss a heck of a lot of money, if her promissses pan out. Ssso what if one jealousss hasss been doesn't get sssome sssatisssfaction?!" She smirked at Beakley, who – red with anger – turned incredulously to the rest of her fellow villains. Nobody so much as moved in her defense.

"Sorry, mate," Rowe said finally, chuckling. "You've been outvoted."

Beakley gaped at one, then another of her teammates. Then, grumbling under her breath about "ungrateful philistines" and "making them never work in this town again," she promptly pulled herself up until she was tall and razor straight, then stormed out of the room.

The others watched her go impassively. Once they were sure she was gone, however, Bushroot turned to Julia. "Don't let our resident drama queen's exit fool you – you're in showbusiness, you know how it is. We're _not_ rubes, however." He gestured to another door in the back, and not the one she came in from. Julia got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"You could be playing us to get out of spending an evening with her." Rowe said, jerking his fist to where Beakley disappeared to. "So we'll make sure of what you can do, mate. You get to be our guest tonight!" He looked over in another direction, indicating that this was where the beds were located.

"Sleep tight, mate!"

The thought of sleeping in a run down hideout underground with a bunch of eccentric criminals wasn't her idea of a good night. But as she was led to the other room by a cackling Quackerjack and a bored looking One-Shot, she had no choice but to accept it as yet another low this mad quest had forced her into…

* * *

 _Standard Preen Inc, The Next Morning,_

Techno arrived at Standard Preen bright and early, just in case Rockerduck had any ideas about using those extra hours to pull a fast one, or maybe try to pull something even riskier and call it a loophole.

Unlike Scrooge, he couldn't count on Rockerduck to counter him head on. Though he supposed this way was better. Scrooge McDuck's way would've been way more of a headache.

But either way he couldn't spend any more time here than strictly necessary. The Pirates' Auction was likely to happen at some point today, and if he wasn't ready to help he wouldn't be forgiving himself in a hurry. So as briskly as possible it was.

As he walked in the front door – better for appearances – the receptionist gave him an odd look.

"Oh! Mr. Techno!" She said in surprise. "My mistake, I thought you were already… did you need some extra tools?"

"No, that won't be necessary." He said flippantly. It was an odd thing to ask, but he wasn't planning on listening much to any of Rockerduck's staff anyway. They would probably just try to mess him up. "I'm pretty sure I can take care of this myself."

"W-well yes, of course. As you said," she stammered, as he passed by.

He continued on his way to the R&D department. As he did, the various workers and scientists gave him a wide berth and several nervous looks. No doubt they were anxious about his interference – Rockerduck might have even told them to say something he wouldn't like. So he wouldn't let them distract him either.

When he finally arrived at the Manipulator's designated room. A flustered duck with a bad comb over greeted him just outside.

"Oh! Mr. Techno," he said, sounding pompous. "I could've sworn we went through this already."

Techno didn't have time for this. This day had everyone on edge. "We did. And now I'm going to take care of it."

The duck – either a scientist or an executive, he didn't know or care – looked at him in confusion, then at the door to the room.

"Are you… er…. _sure_ you don't need any help?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Techno snapped, letting the irritation show despite himself. "And tell Mr. Rockerduck that until I finish the job and give the all clear I want no one to bother me or enter this room at all – unless he wants to deal with SHUSH!"

The duck smiled nervously and quickly made scarce, likely off to deliver the message. Techno wouldn't need worry about that for now.

The Tron Manipular was exactly where he left it. He hoped it was untampered with as well: he gave it a once over, checking for anomalies and perhaps something removed from its inner workings – the things anyone looking to preserve the tech would do.

It seemed like the tight idea, keeping Rockerduck or anyone else from having a piece of this thing. So it surprised him when the opposite happened instead: nothing was taken away, but something was there that wasn't yesterday.

There was a large lump situated on the side of the Manipulator. Any old fool could have noticed it. Seen that it was entirely artificial? Maybe not. But anyone could have seen it.

"What the..?" Techno said to himself. He reached for the attachment, and only realized a moment too late that that was _probably_ unwise. The second his finger traced its chassis, the lump quivered like an overheating laptop.

Techno threw a hand to his face, trying to cover his eyes, and in a flash the lump exploded. Shimmering energy filled the room, clouding his vision for a brief second. But beyond that, he wasn't hurt.

He almost laughed to himself. He had been expecting a blast, or some kind of damage to his person. But instead, nothing. In fact, there seemed to be no damage to him at all. Whatever the big idea was, it evidently hadn't happened as planned. He tapped his screen for a quick diagnostic – hoping to get a good sense of what this saboteur – probably a certain slighted billionaire – had intended to do.

Instead, he was met with high pitched, whining static directly coming directly into his ear and sprawling all over his visor. He yelped and turned the feed off.

His suit was offline: every gadget at his disposal was disrupted! This _was_ a trap after all! He whipped around, trying to find the likely culprit.

"Rockerduck?" He called out, expecting a smug executive and a half dozen goons to answer.

But it just wasn't his day. The truth only blindsided him again.

"Nah…" came a voice, disturbingly familiar, from right behind him. Before he could turn, Techno was clocked by a hard punch to the face, and found himself reeling to the floor.

"But I get why you might think so…" the voice said, wickedly amused.

Techno gasped. Standing there was someone in some kind of copy of his own costume. Knowing the genuine article as well as he did, it was obviously a cheap knockoff. But a person who wasn't familiar could easily be fooled.

 _That's_ why Rockerduck's staff had been so confused. Now he felt like an idiot…

But there was no time for that now. He jumped to his feet: His opponent had the element of surprise, but that didn't mean he couldn't fight back. Or so he thought. The other guy was _good._ In a moment he was back on the ground, wheezing with what felt like an indent in his stomach.

He tried again, but the position he was in was too much of a disadvantage - and getting worse all the time. Before he could even rise this time, he was down again. It was starting to feel uncomfortably like grade school again. And Techno was starting to get angry.

He quickly tried a different tactic: he made to slide back to get some space, maybe even make for the exit. If he gave himself long enough, he could fix some of gadgets at least enough to aid in the fight.

But he was too slow. The ambusher was already above him. He went for a sweeping kick, but the attacker simply jumped over it and punted him in the back.

Techno groaned in pain, and his opponent laughed to hear it. "Careful." He said. He crouched over Techno and grabbed him by the collar. "Wouldn't wanna scratch that pretty suit of yours, would we?"

Techno couldn't respond to the threats. He was punch drunk, and even if he wasn't what he saw left his speechless regardless. The attacker pulled off the copy visor, revealing his face – and Techno's jaw dropped.

He felt himself being lifted to his feet – though he was unable to support his own weight. His enemy pulled their faces together, so that he got a nice, long look.

There was no denying it. The face staring back at him was his own.

"It's you!" He gasped. So this is what that felt like…

"'You?'" His double replied, an unwelcome evil grin spreading across the face of Honker Muddlefoot. "Are you sure it's not _you_?!"

He cocked his hand back for a final, probably quite painful haymaker. Techno tried to pull away or at least wriggle out of the death grip a little, but to no avail: the punch was coming, and he couldn't stop it.

NegaHonker's fist collided with a **WHAM** , and the lights dimmed on more than just his visor. The last thing Techno heard before losing consciousness was his doppleganger musing to himself, his nasty chuckle echoing through his head.

"Okay, I gotta admit. That sounded a lot cooler in my head…"

* * *

 **Author's** **Note:** In which everyone has the makings of a very bad day, none the least poor Honker. Then again, much as the Honk-man himself feared, it's practically a given that one's first meeting with their Negaverse counterpart be suitably traumatic...

In other news, Agent Mia is very fun to write, mostly because she has a different perspective from both the rest of SHUSH and our heroes. And I continue my crusade for bad naming puns with Stewie "the Pigeon," who is never called "Stew Pigeon" in the story - but you get the idea. He's not an actual pigeon, which probably makes the bad pun worse.

"Duck" reference of the day: I'm not sure what Rockerduck's company is called in the source. Given the trend, it's probably something along the lines of Rockerduck Industries, but given that the character is rather blatantly a reference to John D. Rockefeller, I though it would be fun to have his company be a counterpart for Rockefeller's own Standard Oil. Granted, preen oil isn't quite the same as fossil fuel.

Next time, that bad day gets significantly more complicated: now that the Preparations are over it's time for **The Party** \- next Darkwing time, same Darkwing channel...


	7. Thieves Paradise: Party Crashers

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Part 3 – Party Crashers  
**

* * *

 _SHUSH Headquarters, 10 AM_

At the same time Techno was having his cross-multiversal existential crisis, the rest of St. Canard – or at least, those in the know – was rocked by a timely message, long awaited.

SHUSH was on high alert. Agents hustled here and there in a pre-deployment flurry, mountains of equipment and paperwork zooming through the halls on carts every half-second. Over the loudspeaker, a flustered voice echoed overhead – sounding just about as desperate as everyone felt.

"This is not a drill. We need midtown on lockdown. Repeat, mid-down… no wait, midtown lockdown!"

In her office, Director Navis listened to the announcement and groaned – if only _she_ had the luxury of the occasional slip up in a situation like this. But an imminent incident with every dangerous organization on the Western Seaboard was not one that allowed the tiniest slip up: she had spent the last hour shouting at city officials to allow roadblocks on such short notice, and would likely spend every moment up until the accursed hour negotiating procedure with bureaucrats and talking strategy with their top men.

She could at least take consolation in being right – simple deduction though it was – and so her blind preparations were paying off. The Air Pirates had chosen a location right in the middle of the city.

In fact, they picked _the_ number one location in the middle of the city. But they weren't the first villains to do so. It would be an complete quagmire, but she swore the Pirates would soon learn just how ready SHUSH was for such things…

* * *

 _Darkwing Tower, 10:30 AM_

"Canard Tower!" Darkwing said – or at least, that's all the others could hear through the rush he was in. Like SHUSH's finest, he was methodically – and rather obsessively – checking over every piece of equipment and weaponry he had, rapidly ensuring his was at the top of his game.

"The penthouse?" Gosalyn – now suited up again as Crimson – said curiously. "I've always wanted to see the inside of that place."

"It's overrated." Darkwing grumbled. "And no. It's the convention hall, on the ground floor. Though I've sent a note to Navis reminding her about it anyway, just in case. Who knows if she'll listen…"

His fingers – moving to quickly – slipped and hit the wrong button on the spare gas gun he was inspecting, for the fifth time no less. He couldn't catch himself in time, and instead he caught a full blast of itching powder right in the face. "YEAAOW!" he yelped. He jumped back, his hands darting all over to vigorously scratch his face.

Crimsons snickered, but manage to keep her face mostly straight. "Maybe you should slow down, dad," she said, not bringing up that she was going through exactly the same lengths with her own gear: primarily her bike. She had the odd feeling she would need it at peak condition.

"Have you – ow - gone mad, beloved child of mine?" Darkwing said between scratches, with a melodramatic irritation that made Crimson roll her eyes. "We have lots to – ow- do and no time to do it in, and I am _not_ letting another criminal organization take – _yowww -_ root in my town. It's going to be like a crook convention out there as it is!"

"Kinda literally," came a chuckling comment from inside the Thunderquack, "given where the thing's taking place."

"Thank you, Launchpad," Darkwing said under his breath. "Your input – ayii! - as usual, is invaluable."

"No prob, DW!"

NegaCrimson watched this from the sidelines. Unlike the others, she didn't seem too worried about the Pirates' Auction. Instead she was perusing a printout of possible hideout predictions throughout the city, albeit distracted.

"Sounds like you're going to have your hands full," NegaCrimson said to Crimson, amused at the others' panic. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Crimson gave her a flat look. _"Techno_ left a little while ago to take care of the Rockerduck thing. I sent him the message, though." She glanced at her communicator. The messages she sent to Techno that morning were all marked "unread by recipient," which was unlike him. But she was sure he had his reasons.

"He should be back in time even if he doesn't get it," she said, half to herself. "It won't take _that_ long to dismantle one measly mind control gun." Taking her mind off of Techno, she turned to NegaCrimson. "What about you? We could use the kind of extra punch only a Crimson Avenger can bring."

NegaGosalyn frowned. "I don't know. NegaHonker is still out there. Every distraction just lets him worm further out of my grasp. Trust me, I know from experience."

"Oh?' Crimson said, not so sure that going on a wild McGoose chase was the best plan at the moment.

"NegaDuck's biggest ally was time. If he could find make himself invisible, then lay low to plan and gather resources, sometimes it felt like he could do anything. NegaHonker is no NegaDuck, not by a long shot, but…"

Crimson clapped her on the shoulder. "But you need this to be done, and you can't stop until you make sure. I get it."

A smile chanced at her double's beak. "Call me if you guys _really_ foul this up," NegaCrimson replied. "But _don't_ call me unless it's that bad." She ran over to the nearest window, and turned back at the last minute. "And good luck," she said.

Then she dramatically leapt out of the window and swooped across the bridge, into the skyline.

"And to think she's worried about being a heroine," Crimson chuckled to herself, watching NegaCrimson go. "She's already got the dramatic exit down…"

* * *

 _The Fearsome Five's Underground Lair, 12 PM_

Julia walked timidly into what she was already calling the "common room:" a large area in the bunker-like lair with lots of couches and chairs, where the villains would come to blow off steam.

There were other places where Bushroot, Rowe and Quackerjack – or any five members who were up to something – would go to escape the insanity and do some serious planning, but at the moment they were nearly all here: huddled around a mobile television watching old reruns of Davy Quackett on an oldies channel – at Bushroot's insistence ("It's a classic!" she had heard him saying).

How they got a satellite signal this far underground was anyone's guess, though with the amount of mad science running through these tunnels she supposed that was the least concerning thing around her.

When she announced her presence, they all looked up at her with boredeom, as if they had already known she was there. Despite this, they all stared at her expectantly – probably knowing how nervous it was making her.

"I-I just got off the phone with my contact." She said. "The Air Pirates have finally revealed the time and location of the auction."

"No complications?" Bushroot laughed in surprise. "Well, that was refreshingly easy!"

Suppressing a shudder, Julia looked away to the far corner of the room. She couldn't bring herself to look anyone – even this band of amoral criminals – in the eye.

"For you, maybe," she muttered under her breath.

Something sharp suddenly poked her in the shoulder. "What was that?" Bianca Beakley entered the room from just behind her, spitting like a cobra. She spun an offending pen around in her hand, glaring daggers at the younger reporter. "Is our high and mighty poser dissatisfied with the deal _she_ brought to _us_ in the first place?"

Julia glowered at her. "Leave me alone."

"Make me," Beakley shot back, scowling.

Quackerjack leapt to his feet, ignoring the tension entirely. "Beakley! So glad you could make it! We were utterly lost in your absence!"

"Yeah, mate," said Rowe, his voice heavily sarcastic. "It saved us all three minutes it would've taken sending someone to get you." Beakley turned away, snarling, but Rowe continued on as if she hadn't reacted at all. "Get those bugs ready, mate. We've got a job that needs some quick casing."

"And where is that?" Beakley replied, not looking at Julia. But, ever cheeky, the reporter responded anyway.

"According to the source, Canard Tower."

Bushroot sighed. "Of course it is."

"Aw, man…" Quakerjack pretended to vomit. "I never did like that place. The mints on the pillows were all sour."

"I don't remember being served mints," Bushroot said, confused.

Quackerjack blinked. "… then again, I _do_ love surprises."

"Either way, it's time to get moving!" Rowe said, grinning with devious anticipation. The room mobilized at his words, all villains moving to suit up with a newfound determination. "There's a proper old rage going on that could use a wild card!" He went on, like an emcee. "And we're it, mates!"

Every one of the Five gave a shout of support, even Beakley. It was impossible to think, but even Julia - who hated her part in all of this - had to admit that the villains' fervor was almost infectious. These were the people she would be following into the auction, and they were this close to making her feel like this might work out.

It felt dangerous, especially since she was already in so deep. She would have to watch out, and make sure she didn't get carried away...

* * *

 _Standard Preen Co. Inc., Unknown Lab, 3:00 PM_

When Techno awoke, the first thing he noticed was that he wasn't in the same place he last remembered being. His head was swimming and his vision was distorted – he was wearing some kind of mask - but he quickly caught on that this new room was very different: unlike the compact, windowless laboratory from before, this room was larger, with sleek walls and huge windows that covered the entirety of one of its sides. He could see the skyline from here: he was up high, someplace far above ground level.

The second thing he noticed as that he was bound to a chair, which he supposed should have been the first. He halfheartedly attempted to pull himself out of his bonds, but he could already tell that he was wrapped up tight. It would take time to get himself out of these, if it were at all possible. He would have to wait.

Then the third thing: he looked around, and saw that he was not alone. Someone else was in the room... dressed in _his_ supersuit! Despite the fact that he couldn't see their face, he knew it had to be NegaHonker! He looked down at himself as well he could, and was surprised to find only the casual clothing he usually wore under his suit. He was stripped of his gadgets, and what's more he was being impersonated!

NegaHonker was twisting himself around, trying to get a good look at his new ensemble. But he clearly knew Techno was waking up, for he called out to him without provocation. "You really go out wearing this crap? How do you not die of embarrassment?"

"You!" He hissed.

In Honker's mind, he forced himself to keep the hero "persona" up. He wasn't used to internally separating himself like that, and he rationally knew it was pointless - his doppleganger obviously knew who he was, and he wasn't even dressed in his uniform any more – but thinking as Techno, not quite as Honker Muddlefoot, kept him focused against someone who could probably dig at him worse than anybody.

"That all you can say?" NegaHonker turned to him. The suits visor neatly covered up his facial scar, the only visual indicator that they were not the same person. It was like looking in a mirror. "What happened to that genius vocabulary?"

He didn't fall for the bait. "Where am I?"

"Some private penthouse lab for Rockerduck's top eggheads." NegaHonker laughed. "A _penthouse lab,_ can you believe it? Waste of good money, in my opinion."

Underneath the mask, Techno's eyes narrowed. "So you're working with Rockerduck, then."

"Psh. Yeah, right." NegaHonker quit checking himself out and strode over to Techno, chuckling to himself. "That fool would just get in my way. Made a good opportunity, though."

Techno wasn't so quick to believe his word. "If you're not accomplices, how did you get me up here?"

But every word seemed to just make NegaHonker more amused. "You kidding? That was the easy part. I only had to pretend to be 'Techno,' throw a sheet over the your sissy butt and our little science experiment, and waltz right into the elevator." He gestured to the corner of the room, where the Tron Manipulator sat primed, aimed at the window, with a discarded tarp laying beside it. He gripped Techno's shoulder like a vice and whispered jovially, but nastily, into his ear. "You're the one who demanded Rockerduck's people not bother you, and give you everything you needed. If anything, _you're_ my accomplice on this one."

Techno's heart fell. NegaHonker was right: he _had_ practically set himself up, and now there was a mercenary wearing his clothes. It wasn't often he had to deal with hubris. He was quickly deciding that he wasn't fond of it.

NegaHonker pushed him hard, watching as Techno and the chair helplessly wobbled back and forth. "I _could_ thank you," he said, "but you're an loser so I don't think I will."

"So what's your plan?" Techno said, in an attempt to salvage his mistake. "Zap me with the Tron Manipulator? Make me just as twisted as you are?"

NegaHonker half-smirked, half-snarled at him. "You? Please? Why would I need a _you_ on my side, I already have a _me._ And I think we've just proven you're not as smart as you think." He looked out of the window, into the St. Canard sky. "No, I've got bigger fish to fry. Mostly undoing the way you meddlers turned _my_ world upside down!"

Techno gasped as realization dawned. "NegaGosalyn."

NegaHonker turned to him. Even through the visor, the expression on his face chilled Techno to the bone. He wondered if that was what criminals saw when _he_ was facing them down. "You know, she wasn't meant to be some goody two shoes. _You lot_ ruined her! And now she's ruining the Negaverse! So it's my duty to get daddy's little girl back on track."

"Sounds to me like she's a lot better at running the place than your boss ever was."

NegaHonker rolled his eyes. "Please. Don't forget, I knew her before Negaduck actually started paying that little waif attention. She was weak then, and she's weak now!" It made Techno seethe to hear such awful things in his voice, but he kept it in. If he could just keep NegaHonker distracted... "But once upon a time, she could actually get the job done."

"Like I said. She's better now than she ever was. You won't beat her."

"Why not? All I have to do it wait. Your friends are the caring type, my Gosalyn included now. If you go missing trying to boss around some rich poser, they'll all come running to 'save' you." He jerked his head to the Tron Manipulator. "But they won't be expecting _this."_

"Sure, _my_ Darkwing and Crimson will," he said, extending his forced insistence on hero names to the others. Keeping it up felt like a small victory, somehow. "But why would _she?_ She's here to get _you_ , remember? And trust me, she's pretty fixated on that. If it looks like Rockerduck did something to me, she _might_ come. Or she might figure Crimson and Darkwing can handle it and keep looking for you. Ironic, huh?"

"So I'll just make sure she _knows_ it's me!" He reached for the suit's communicator, and Techno tried not to lean forward in anticipation. He had done all the talking he needed - now all his double had to do was press the button… but instead NegaHonker stopped himself, just before making contact. "And if I do, Darkwing could just lock the suit up remotely, and I'd be stuck until they came to pick me up." He glared at Techno. "Smart, but I'm no idiot myself."

Techno glowered, though without his mask it looked less intimidating than he hoped. That had been _so_ close… "Clearly."

"Anyway, there are other ways to get her attention. If I can't get her here at a distance, I might as well get her here in person!" A twisted grin spread across NegaHonker's beak, something that just looked _wrong_ on the helmeted face of "Techno." "But luckily, I've had practice…"

NegaHonker pressed a few buttons on the suit, and it flared into action. Lasers warmed up, jets cycled, computer jargon scrolled down the visor... it's designer recognized the motions it was going through: a brief diagnostic of all its major applications, something that it was set only to do on his command! The suit had seemingly accepted its fake master as the real one!

And so the real Techno, now feeling even less like himself than ever, could only stare flabbergasted at the sight. "W-what the..?"

"It's funny." NegaHonker said, punctuating this with a chuckle. He waved his hand in Techno's direction, making a show of the fact that he _could_ now turn the suit's weapons against him if he wanted. "You've got all sorts of defenses and passwords on all of Darkwing's stuff. But when it comes to your pride and joy, all it takes is an eyeball and a bit of your DNA. Both things I have in spades. A little lazy, isn't it?"

"You're the reason I've been having fuel efficiency problems!" Techno shouted. "You've been stealing my suit!"

"Stop the presses, he really is a genius," came the sardonic reply, alongside more laughter. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some aggressive recruitment to do."

Techno actually did struggled against his bonds now, for the first time. No matter his plans to escape before, he could absolutely not sit by and let NegaHonker do this to his friend. Even if he had nothing to fight with, he had to try! "And what's stopping me from getting out of this chair and dismantling the Manipulator while you're gone?" He said quickly, trying to play NegaHonker into staying put.

But NegaHonker didn't take the bait. He didn't even turn around. Instead, he hovered to the massive window and pulled part of it open. A cool breeze come from outside, but Techno was in no mood to enjoy it.

"Probably the fact that you're wired." NegaHonker said bluntly. "Undo those bonds, and you explode. Move that chair too far from that spot, and you explode again. So much as _graze_ the Tron Manipulator, and the whole building goes up! Plus a few other surprises just for fun." He turned back to Techno, grinned evilly. "Do me a favor and don't blow up until I can get a good view. I get so little satisfaction these days."

Techno couldn't see anything behind him, so he supposed it was possible there were explosives running down the chair. But he didn't think he had been unconscious for _that_ long. "You're bluffing."

NegaHonker shrugged. "It's possible. Try me. See what happens." He hovered through the window, indifferent as could be. "And while you figure that out, I've got work to do. See ya, loser!"

The suit's jet boots kicked into high gear, and he was off: disappearing like a gunshot into the sky, where he would no doubt hurt a lot of people – probably people Techno cared about - while wearing _his_ clothes. Just the thought of it made his stomach turn violently.

And while he wasn't _completely_ to be counted out yet, his options were very limited. It would have taken about an hour or so, but Techno probably could have gotten himself out of his bindings. Yet NegaHonker's threat lingered in his mind: he had no way to know for sure whether or not it was a bluff, but from what he knew of his doppelganger Techno was quite sure he _would_ put an entire building of semi-innocent scientists and corporate sharks at risk just to get what he wanted.

The room being wired was _possible,_ and as long as the slightest hint of that possibility existed Techno couldn't bring himself to take the risk. He would just have to sit here after all, and helplessly wait for his moment.

He could only hope that someone would come along after all, in time to stop all this…

* * *

 _Canard Tower, 3:30 PM_

It was the cusp of criminal event of the century, and its clientele – both eager and incredibly irate – were arriving in droves. They arrived in limousines, pretending to be high-class citizens. They arrived in busses, pretending to be low-class tourists. They arrived by window like ninjas or by helicopter like the super-spies they were.

And in one notable case, they arrived by sewer.

"Disgusting, mate." Rowe groaned as they finally found a maintenance tunnel that led to the hotel's basement. "Why couldn't we just dress up as bellhops again?"

Quackerjack shushed him. "Never repeat a joke, unless it's funny."

"Us being covered in unmentionable tripe is funny?"

" _You_ being covered in tripe makes the whole trip worthwhile, 'boss.'" Beakley quipped, one of the last to enter. One-Shot snickered, just beside her.

"I ain't your-"

"Yes, yes. We know, 'mate.'" Beakley said dismissively. One-Shot laughed outright.

Rowe turned and snarled at them, briefly giving her and One-Shot pause. "I ain't your mate either!"

Watching this idly, Julia groaned. As the villains' guide, she was near the head of the group with a far less concerned Bushroot. "If this is the way you get along, it's a miracle you lot accomplish anything. Let alone a multi-city crime wave."

Bushroot chuckled, watching his comrades. It was just the six of them, including Julia. Splatter Phoenix opted out, saying something about "not supporting the mercantilist domination over information," and the sewer was too hot for Camille's powers. "Ah, this is nothing," he shrugged. "Wait until we get serious. That's when our true professionalism shines."

"If you say so," Julia said vaguely. She honestly couldn't care less how effective the Five were when they really got going, not any more. All she could think about was the situation she had freely launched herself into, and how she was going to get out.

"But speaking of professionalism, we can't go in there smelling like refuse." Bushroot reached into his hair and pulled out a sweet smelling flower, with stem that looked an awful lot like a perfume bottle attached to it. "I whipped this up earlier. It should kill the smell." He walked away from Julia, preparing to isolate the various criminals and wash them individually. Before he went, he threw Julia a bar of soap without bothering to give her the same treatment. "Though this sort of thing is a _lot_ easier if Armstrong's here." He said as he left."He's got water jets, and all."

Julia pretended to act like this was a big loss, but it almost made her happy to know that the literal tin tyrant wasn't currently around to join in. She wasn't stupid: she had done her research, and she knew that of all the Five Armstrong had the closest history with Glomgold.

Armstrong's presence was the biggest risk to going to the Five, as far as she knew. She was _very_ grateful that the android had been "away" – likely with Glomgold himself - for awhile. Last thing she wanted was to be forced do something incriminating while one of Glomgold's known eyes and ears was focused on her. It was bad enough that she was taking a risk on the Five at all.

Though speaking of eyes, it was time to thank her contact – a fact that already made her want to throw up. With Bushroot distracted, she slipped ahead and dipped into the basement hallways - where Stewie the Pigeon was waiting for her.

"I see y'went w' my advice!" He said as her head became visible. "Welcome back t' th' naughty list, darlin'!"

"No need to congratulate me." Julia grumbled. "Thanks for getting me in. I have what I need now."

"Sure, sure. Jus' 'member, technic'ly m' here with th' Davidson Gang. We wuz invited, see? So once t' fun starts, I may have'ta shoot ya's. You know how it is. Can't pick sides."

Julia glowered at him, but she expected to less. "Duly noted."

Stewie gave her one last twisted smile and strode away to join the rest of his gang, whistling as if he were just out for a stroll. And not a moment too soon: almost as soon as he left, the rest of the Five – a strikingly fragrant Bushroot in front – stepped out from the maintenance tunnel.

"What are you up to out here, faker?"

"I… needed some air." She said. Even in this horrible situation, the reporter's promise to protect their sources remained strong. But knowing that this probably wouldn't satisfy them, she quickly tried to change the subject. "I suppose it's time for you guys to make your entrance."

"Not yet, mate," Rowe replied. "We're not invited, right?"

"So?" One-Shot squawked. "I wanna crash the party! There's pirate plunder to be bullseyed!"

"No! We're not going to _crash_ it, and we're not going to _plunder_ it. We're going to _rob_ it."

"There's a difference?"

"Much like the difference between silver and stonington, it's a gray area."

"Awful joke, mate."

"Says you." Quackerjack stuck his tongue out, then turned to the other assembled villains. "Still, the only reason we'd ever walk into that place like we owned it is if we suddenly stole the deed. Those other crooks would rip their sudden competition apart, and since we weren't invited the Pirates would probably let 'em."

Bushroot shook his head, frowning in disappointment. "Honor amongst thieves at its finest."

Julia stared at them sideways. It was dizzying logic – though maybe that was just Quackerjack's delivery – and it checked out. "So what _is_ the plan, then?"

Quackerjack, Bushroot and Rowe looked at each other, wearing nefarious smiles that made Julia no more reassured than before…

* * *

 _Convention Hall, Rafters_

Canard Tower was one of the most modern and upscale landmarks in the entire city. So it was easy to forget that it was also one of the oldest. And as a result, to forget that there were a lot of old leftovers from its original designs hidden in the nooks and crannies of the place.

The extensive basement system with easy access to the city's sewers were one of of those old fashioned decisions. Another was in the convention hall, which started as its own sub-building – a private concert hall. As such, the room that the Pirates adopted for their nefarious purposes had a few interesting additions of its own: most importantly, huge rafters that made watching the proceedings undetected easy.

Darkwing and company had no problem getting into position. Darkwing and Crimson inched to the edges of the rafters, surveying the scene down below, while Launchpad hung back a bit – not having his friends' catlike tread. Besides, he had somehow managed to bring a triple story ham, tomato and cheese sandwich into the danger zone, and it would be a crime not to finish it.

In any case, by the time the heroes had gotten into place they could see the Pirates had already started getting underway themselves. The guests were already filing in on one end of the room, kept in check by both a small cadre of ambivalent looking pirates and their own cautious natures in the face of what was on the other end.

It could only be described as plunder on an unprecedented scale. There were piles of it, but each was meticulously organized: there were filing cabinets and massive cases full of stolen documents or printed communiqués. Rows of liberated experiments in jars and on pedestals: some still wriggling in their containers. Stolen art, possibly with hidden messages from decades past still hidden in their paint. And the occasional weapon - possibly still live and dangerous - haphazardly thrown in heaps that could explode at any second.

And even all that was dwarfed by the center stage. In the front was a simple podium with a microphone set up, no doubt the emcee's spot. And behind it: an _enormous_ pile of gold. It was easily a third as tall as the room itself: the kind of thing that Scrooge McDuck could take a long, midday swim in.

Even from the rafters, it was an intimidating sighting. "That's a lot of money." Crimson said, without hiding a bit of awe. "They're certainly sure of themselves"

"Showing off, more like it." Darkwing grumbled. "Compared to the assets they've stolen from SHUSH and FOWL, that gold is probably the _least_ valuable thing here." He was doing some last minute maintenance on his gas gun, wearing a pronounced scowl. "This whole thing's a farce. We'll be lucky if the city survives the night."

Crimson smirked at him. "Fresh out of that classic Darkwing 'singed, but triumphant' optimism?"

Her father smiled, if only for a second. He knew she had similar fears, but Darkwing had always been proud of his daughter's ability to push past them. "I just have a bad feeling, is all." He said glumly. "Like something in the air. I can't help but feel on edge."

"Well, this won't make you feel better." Crimson quipped, having turned her gaze away from the pirates' ill-gotten gains. "The high rollers have arrived. I see Steelbeak."

Darkwing glanced where she was looking. It was true: the Fiendish Organization for _United_ Larceny's smarmy leader had arrived like a movie star, with a cadre of Eggmen on his heels.

Launchpad craned his head over the rafter, but thankfully dropped no crumbs. "Whoa. How long has it been since _he's_ been in public?" He said gravely, though the fact that he was still finishing up his sandwich ruined the gravity of the question a bit.

"A long time." Darkwing said. "According to SHUSH's intel, he's hardly ever away from his hidden bases and secret projects these days."

"He's probably here to get a few secret projects back." Crimson added, studying Steelbeak's movements. "Just look at him! The guy's pissed."

The nefarious chicken took one glance at the pirates' collection of swag and curled his metallic beak – as best as one could curl metal, anyway. Behind his entourage, several other high-ranking members of FOUL followed. At the front,

Darkwing gasped. "That's Dr. Fossil! I didn't know he was still around!"

"Kind of makes sense, though," Crimson mused. Darkwing looked expectantly at her, prompting her to go on. "If that dragon-breath over there is running Steelbeak's R&D, it definitely explains why they were after the meteorite. Dr. Fossil was obsessed with devolution, so he's probably the only person who _wants_ that thing out in the world."

"True." Darkwing said. "One more thing to worry about. Terrific. And look, there's the Davidson Gang." He continued, pointing out threats as they came. "A few slimy looking gents who probably work for Dr. Slug. Beagle Boys. A few undercover SHUSH Agents. And I thought I just saw a Thembrian!" He pretended to swoon, just to sell it. Crimson rolled her eyes. "It's a full house! Flintheart Glomgold is just about the only crook in the area who _isn't_ here!"

"A full house minus one king. Here comes the emcee." Crimson added dryly, pointing to the right of the stage.

Walking towards the podium was a cat. A _big_ cat: hulking and overweight – even moreso than the legendarily burly Agent Grizzlikof had been, dressed in exaggerated pirate gear – including a large tricorne hat. He walked through the room with an uneven gait – the distinctive _step, clop, step, clop_ of a person stomping around with a false leg – and something about his presence made everyone stop to look.

"I know that walk." Darkwing said, eyes narrowed and voice lowered unnecessarily. "It can't be… is that _Pete?"_

Crimson leaned forward to get a better look. "Wait. You mean, like _Pegleg_ Pete?" She said, curious and possibly a little impressed. "Keen gear, I remember reading about him growing up!"

Darkwing's nodded, though his tone was a bit less excited. "So do I. Alias Pistol Pete, Big Bad Pete, Putrid Pete, suspected Captain Pietro… the list goes on for a very, _very_ long time." He tapped the recorder on his communicator: this "farce" had suddenly become worth a little more review. "I know a detective in Mouseton who'll be _very_ interested to hear about this!"

"That's guy's infamous!" Crimson replied. "What the heck is he doing with the Air Pirates?"

Darkwing grunted coldly. "Earning a steady paycheck, I imagine." Crimson threw him a look, but he either ignored it or was too deep in thought to notice. "There might be more here than we thought. I thought the Air Pirates were just getting daring and stupid without Don Karnage. But Pete is no fool. He wouldn't be here if it were just a risky cash grab."

"Maybe we'll hear it from the horse's mouth," Crimson said, dropping her voice to a whisper. Pete had reached the podium, and was beginning to speak.

The beefy crime lord grinned at his audience, showing far more sharp teeth than out would expect. Every spotlights on the ceiling – barring one that was broken and dark – was pointed right at him and the pile of spoils. Pete truly had center stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" he began, with obvious but surprisingly magnetic showmanship. "Aw, what am I kiddin', ain't nobody here's a lady _or_ a gentleman! And if ya are, ye're in the wrong place… or in a lotta denial!"

The crowd laughed, though the undercover SHUSH agents did so with suppressed unease. Steelbeak stood there watching, without a single chuckle or smile. His Eggmen did their best to do the same, but even a horrible glare from their boss could keep a few unprofessional grins off of their faces.

"Speakin' of which," Pete went on. "Let me say an especially special 'ho' there!' to our dear visitors from the right side of law. Much thanks fer clearing the streets! Saved us a lotta trouble!" The assorted criminals looked around, trying to spy anyone who looked suspiciously _un_ suspicious. Steelbeak, however, didn't turn his head at all: he knew his foes were out there.

"You don't have to show yerselves just yet," Pete laughed mockingly. "But soon ye'll find out you gotta play the game just like the rest of us!"

"Ya gotta pay. Pay _big._ Cause everyone else is gonna be doin' the same thing! And if ya wanna start trouble?" He swept his eyes over the assembled criminals, grinning. "Then yer buddies might have a problem with that. Capiche?"

"This is going to get bad. Where's Techno?"

"I-I'm right here!" Came an awkward reply. A moment later, Techno came inching through their covert entrance. "Sorry I'm late, without calling or anything. I kind of had to cannibalize my communicator for parts."

"Again?" Crimson sighed, to which Techno sent her an apologetic grin.

But Darkwing was too flustered to bother caring about that, or to hello at all. "Finally!" He barked, before turning to leave. "I'll get in place on the far side now. Launchpad, man the Thunderquack in case we need to make a quick escape. And you two-" He pointed dramatically at Crimson and her sidekick, making the former slightly exasperated. "-get ready to get dangerous!"

"Aye aye, dad!" Crimson replied with a half-genuine, half-teasting salute, as her father and Launchpad slipped away. Once he left, she turned to her own sidekick.

Concern lined on her face, which made sense. She hadn't seen him in quite a while, and with no word and no response, she had let herself become uncharacteristically worried. It was the day, she figured. Something so crazy happening in her backyard just made her on jumpy. Though her feelings for him didn't help matters. "Being reckless with your tech, huh?"

"Is that a problem?"

She blinked. "I... guess not. Was there a problem dismantling Rockerduck's machine?"

"No..." he replied, with a small smile. "Everything went exactly as planned."

"Then what's with Quackensteining your gear?" She prodded. She spied a lecture coming, which was just great: she was turning into her dad. It had to happen sometime, she supposed.

He apparently came to the same conclusion, because he winced. When he talked, he seemed much more on edge. "It was a temporary problem. I can't modify my own gear?"

"Sor-ry, Tech." She shot back. She hadn't intended to tick him off - maybe he was as set off by the events around them as she was - but being argumentative came easy to her now that it was happening. "But it's you who always says cutting once without measuring twice is for idiots, aren't you? You don't usually do things like that unless there's an emergency. It worries me."

"Maybe I've learned better." He said testily. "We're about to step into a warzone! Taking risks is the only way to win. And that's what we're trying to do in the end, right? Win?"

She tensed, for reasons that had nothing to do with wariness over the day. That really didn't sound like him at all - neither the tone, or the worst said in it. "I... suppose." She said carefully. "Just don't get overconfident. Remember Speck?"

He paused. "Er... yeah. I guess I messed up then." He said, rubbing the back of his neck in sudden, oddly wrongfooted shame. "But we beat him in the end, huh?"

He awkwardly turned his head away at that moment, so Techno didn't see Crimson's eyes widen at his response. When he turned back, her eyes were normal. "Right. Yeah. We beat Speck," she breathed. "Just... nevermind. Let's get into position."

She pointed to an adequate vantage point for "Techno," though she was finding it harder and harder to think she should use that name right now, and watched him like a hawk as he left for for duty. He'd had more to say, though about _what_ she suddenly didn't care to know. Something was not right here, and she had no time for arguments... fabricated, or otherwise.

So instead, once she was sure her "sidekick" was out of earshot she quickly pulled out her communicator

"We have a problem, dad." She whispered. "Something's up with Techno. I'm pretty he isn't who he says he is."

" _What? Who else would he…"_ He paused, and Crimson saw him adopt the same grimace she was becoming familiar with. _"…oh. I'm coming over."_

"No! We can't ruin this. Not now. I pushed him into position, and as far as I know he doesn't know I know." Her father pulled a face, and she flushed. "Yes, I know it's bad. But I already sent you-know-who a message. Any more ideas?"

Darkwing sighed deeply, sounding like he didn't at all want to say the words he was about to. She could see the war on his face, and could completely understand it herself. _"You're right. We can't stop this operation now. SHUSH and all of St. Canard are counting on this. But for heaven's sake, keep an eye on him! And be careful."_

"I will. Things are getting worse by the minute." She cut off her communicator and took a deep breath, trying not to look back at where she knew the imposter was. Without seeing, she somehow knew he was watching her, waiting for some kind of sign.

She could deal with him, for now. But despite what she told her father, the obvious implications of an imposter Techno was _seriously_ undercutting her belief that this would go smoothly.

The thought of NegaHonker thinking he could get away with replacing _her_ Honker boiled her blood enough that it was hard to resist the thought of marching over, ripping the visor off and decking him right in the bill. But she couldn't do that. So she would have to wait…

"I hope you're okay wherever you really are, Honk." She whispered to herself. "And please, no more surprises…"

On cue, Pete's microphone suddenly whined – the sound filling the stage with distorted static, making everyone on the ground wince and turn away. A new voice filled the entire room, as the scrambling pirates lost control of the sound system.

" **I KNOW THE EVIL THAT LURKS IN THESE WALLS!"**

Crimson pulled her hat down over her face. "Of course…" She groaned.

The crowd looked around, trying to spot the owner of the voice. But they didn't have long to look, for a second later all of the lights went out. All except one: the spotlight that appeared to be faulty before.

Evidently, the light was working just fine: modified by person's unknown, without anyone's knowledge. It turned on by itself, shining directly on Pete with something a little extra. The brightness made him flinch, but all others saw Pete recoiling under the shadowed shape of a giant _**M.**_

" **THE EVILS OF GREED!"** The voice continued. **"THE BITTER FRUIT OF PIRACY, THE CHAOS OF WAR! THESE ARE THINGS…"**

The lights came back on, all at once, and the spotlight shut off. And now, out of nowhere, there was someone new in front of the stage. It was a masked duck wielding a rapier that glinted in the light, pointed directly at Pete.

He dressed like an old fashioned swashbuckler, with a black hat and bandanna that covered the entire top of his face. He wore a long green coat that fluttered like a cape whenever he moved, and covered a black suit and utility belt underneath. On his chest, over his heart, was sown a circle with a green _**M**_ that also glinted from far away.

"… that _ **the Masked Mallard**_ will not allow!"

The whole room was frozen, staring at this new development in disbelief. One could just barely hear the sound of Pete - and Darkwing, since Crimson knew to listen for it - groaning in irritation, before at once everyone began to move…

* * *

 _Outside The Convention Hall_

The Fearsome Five were already in position before the proverbial show started. Bushroot was able to talk to a potted hydrangea next to one of the entrances on the other side, who helpfully fed him a play by play about what was going on: including Darkwing's presence in the rafters – you never know what plants are paying attention to.

Despite this, Quackerjack still had his ears pressed up to the doorway to get a listen of his own – not that any of them needed such a thing to hear dramatic proclamations over loudspeaker. But after that things got hectic fast, and Quackerjack was the first to react.

"I hear fighting!" He shouted gleefully. "In record time, too!"

"With an extra player!" One-Shot said, both excited and irritated. "Who's the new guy?"

"Whoever it is, he's getting everyone's attention." Bushroot said with a matter-of-fact voice. He was still listening intently to make out what the plant across the wall was "saying," and so was less reacting and more repeating. "Nobody's taking notice attention to each other any more."

Beakley scoffed. "'Attention' is right! Did you hear all that 'I know evil' stuff? Playing for the news, no doubt."

Rowe cleared his throat, but didn't sound much like a person trying to corral the troops. "Weren't you listening?" He said, bobbing up and down in excitement himself. "Who cares if he's conceited? Whoever that is, he just gave us our _cue,_ mate! Let's get out there!"

"Hoo hoo! Don't have to tell me twice!" "Tally ho!"

* * *

 _Back Inside,_

All hell had broken lose.

It was just as they had all feared. The mystery swordsman's arrival had caused a veritable tidal wave of chaos as every lowlife in the building turned on each other in an effort to get the pirates' precious classified wares to themselves. And the Fearsome Five bursting into the room a minute later had only escalated things: now FOWL was bringing out _their_ big guns, and the whole battle was exploding well out of the pirates' ability to control.

The sting had instantly become a complete botch . The undercover SHUSH agents were getting buried under the growing brawl. And Darkwing didn't even have to move the communicator to his face to hear Navis' furious screaming from mission control.

" _What in blazes are you clowns doing!? I didn't tell you to move!"_

Darkwing winced. Of _course_ she would assume this was their doing. "This isn't us!" He tried to clarify. "Admittedly, a fine introduction, but not one of ours."

Navis didn't seem completely convinced. _"Then who is it?"_

" _Don't know."_ Crimson said simply. Darkwing looked over to her, and she sent him a thumbs up. _"Let's find out…"_

Without another word, she leapt off the rafters and into the fight. As she did, Darkwing watched: his eyes focused on the "Techno" who flew down after her. He grabbed her – for a second, Darkwing's heart raced – and used his hover jets to gently lower her to the ground. Just like like a good sidekick would. A troubling act.

"Keep your eyes open!" He said, trying not to give anything away. For a moment, Crimson stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, nodding. Darkwing could only sigh. That would have to be enough for now. There was no time for anything else.

Swallowing his concern, he dove into the fray himself. It was a long fall, but he had his own ways of getting around. Spotting Dr. Fossil taking flight, presumably intending to rain some kind of weapon down on his enemies, Darkwing aimed his jump at the pterodactyl duck and rebounded off of his back, using him like a bounce pad to soften his fall. Fossil fell some where in the distance, while Darkwing landed gracefully in the middle of the room.

If it looked like chaos down there from a distance, actually being in the middle of it was ten times worse. People were being punched left and right. Eggmen were firing bizarre laser beams across the room, while gigantic vines whipped whole scores of thugs in every direction. Darkwing couldn't tell how well SHUSH's men were doing in this insanity, but he hoped it was better than it looked.

He couldn't help at the moment, at any rate: Darkwing had his own objective to take care of. He wove deftly through the battle, avoiding detection as he made his way to the stage.

If there was anyone who knew that the pirates were thinking with this cockamamie plan, it was the master criminal on the stage. He planned to get the drop on Pete and apprehend him, at least: even at a loss, if SHUSH could force some answers out of him that would at least be _a_ victory.

However, it appeared Darkwing would need to get in line. When he arrived at the stage, the mystery vigilante still had Pete at swordpoint.

"Got you this time," he was saying, a boyish smirk on his face.

Pete was snarling, looking more incensed than worried about the sword at him. "Not _you_ again!"

"Yes me, again." The swordsman said, keeping his rapier trained on Pete's head. "Whenever you or your ilk reap evil, Pete, I'll be there to sow justice! So says the Masked Mallard!"

"Oh brother…" Darkwing said under his breath. He hoped _he_ didn't sound like that.

Pete was no more impressed. "So says an idiot brat. But yer not talkin' to no bumbling buccaneer this time." He snarled. There was a sudden movement, far faster than Darkwing would have expected from someone the hulking pirate's size, and at once Pete had a sword of his own and had parried the Masked Mallard's advantage away. "I'm no slouch myself."

"We'll see about that!" The Masked Mallard replied. He lunged forward and aimed a swipe at Pete's unflatteringly large belly, but again Pete surprised both by deftly slipping out of the way and parrying with a swipe of his own.

"Tsk tsk tsk. I've seen better from losers half yer size, kid."" Pete grunted, smirking nastily. He pushed his sword into the swordsman's own, and for all the Masked Mallard's apparent skill his stance was quickly faltering under Pete's extreme strength.

"Maybe," he said, as his opponent's footing started to slip. "You shoulda minded yer own business."

That was as good a cue as any. "Or maybe he could just use a second!" Darkwing shouted, springing from behind the would-be hero and launching a web kick right into Pete's face. The burly pirate flew back, and hit the floor hard enough to shake the stage.

Darkwing, meanwhile, did a perfect backflip and landed next to the Masked Mallard, ready to strike again.

"D-darkwing Duck!" For a vigilante, the Mallard was younger than he looked from a distance. And he seemed rather too excited to see him for a guy in the middle of a criminal warzone - at least in Darkwing's opinion.

Pete was soon back on his feet. "Not another masked do-gooder!" He grumbled, rubbing his cheek where Darkwing hit him. But he went ignored for the moment: Darkwing, figuring he could trade morebarbs in a moment, decided to focus for a moment on his newfound "friend" instead.

"The Masked Mallard, I presume?" He asked coolly. "Care to explain why you've crashed our little sting?"

"Just evening the odds!" The swordsman replied, as if he hadn't made a mess of the whole thing. "And I have to say, it's an honor to be able to fight alongside you!"

"Yeah… sure." Darkwing grumbled. He would've much preferred things going to plan over having another overenthusiastic ally, but he supposed he would take what he could get.

"'Even odds?' Funny!" Pete snarled. Being ignored clearly didn't sit well with him. "If ya think I can't take ya both on at once, yer in fer a shock!"

Darkwing rolled his eyes. _Now_ it was time to trade barbs. "Yeah? Then why don't you, fuzzy!" He drew his gas gun, and on cue he and the Masked Mallard pointed their weapons at Pete again.

Pete glanced back and forth at his opposition, and now seemed to begrudgingly accept that he was outgunned. "Maybe I got better things to do!" He shot back.

Darkwing knew a parting quip when he heard one, but Pete's instincts were just a hair faster than his own. In a snap movement, Pete turned away and called out.

"Boys! Get yer butts over here!",

An instant later they were surrounded by a half dozen pirates, who seemed to come out of nowhere with swords, guns and surly looks.

"Show our guests here a good time!" Pete laughed. And as Darkwing and the Masked Mallard eyed their new dance partners, he slipped behind the stage and disappeared.

"That guy's starting to annoy me," Darkwing grumbled. He looked to the

As was starting to feel like a trend, the Mallard sprung into action before that could happen. "He won't escape from the eyes of justice!"

He lunged, and half the pirates fell back to avoid a single swipe. Which, Darkwing had to admit, was rather impressive. He was about to retort – something likely hypocritical about dialing back the cheesy dialogue – but he was interrupted by something slamming into him with a powerful _WHAM!_

"Got you back, you stupid avian twit!" Came a heavily, and Darkwing looked up to find Dr. Fossil looming over him. He cursed his lack of attention: while they were focusing on Pete, the fight had tumbled their way!

To the side, he could see the Masked Mallard being overwhelmed as a three-way brawl between a group of gangsters, One-Shot and Quackerjack, and what looked like a platoon of Professor Moliarty's moles steamrolled over himself and the pirates. That of all things was a perfect testament to how insane the pirates' idea had been: Darkwing hadn't even known Moliarty was still around!

He quickly armed a pellet into the gas gun and shot it into Dr. Fossil's face. As expected, the living dinosaur swatted the projectile out of his face, thinking it was a normal smoke bomb. Instead, it burst into bright light upon contact, disorienting the good doctor and sending him reeling to the ground a second time.

As he moved to get a better sense of his surroundings, Navis' voice came in through the comms. _"Darkwing!"_ She called, sharply. _"Some of the smarter criminals are starting to cut and run. We can't let them get away with any of those assets. Where are you?"_

He sighed. He had hoped the criminal element would have spent a little more time beating the stuffing out of one another before they moved onto the inevitable looting. That would've given SHUSH at least a little more time to try and prepare before the stampede started going _out_ the doors rather than within them.

But unfortunately, Navis was right. It didn't take much to see that it was like Christmas Eve in there. People were rifling through files while others fought, grabbing whatever looked valuable. He looked around: the Masked Mallard was still trying to get his limbs out from whatever horrible new toy Quackerjack had unleashed upon his enemies. Crimson was about, but while they had the same job she had her own problems to deal with. And Darkwing had outright turned the regular SHUSH frequency off on his comms (only allowing the limited frequency that Navis broadcast from) because the panicked shouts from the undercovers around him were getting too repetitive.

It really was a shame the rest of their SHUSH roadblocks couldn't come in to help here without potentially breaking the line limiting escapes from farther out: it would've made this job so much easier. As it was, Darkwing was sure this was going to continue to be a very _long_ afternoon…

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And the Auction is underway! Let it never be said that the Air Pirates can't bring the party. Though unlike the Fearsome Five, one's survival is barely guaranteed in these shindigs at all...

Duck Reference of the Day: Pegleg Pete, also known as... well... a lot of Pete related aliases, is one of the oldest Disney characters in existence, and is in particular the archenemy of that "detective in Mouseton" Darkwing was talking about. He's gone up against Scrooge, the nephews and Donald Duck more than a few times, though, including in a few episodes of the old Ducktales (though he was a different character every time), and when thinking of a "new" villain for Darkwing to go up against with the pirates there were few who fit the bill better. And speaking of Ducktales, the Masked Mallard is sometimes a nickname used for Darkwing, but is also a superhero identity Scrooge went by in an episode of the old show. Though the person behind the mask now isn't Scrooge at all...

A third reference: "Speck" is the nickname Honker made for himself when he was being overconfident to the point of being a jerk in the episode "Calm a Chameleon." When Crimson brought it up, she intended to use it to warn Honker against making the same mistakes. Instead, NegaHonker tried to bull his way through not knowing what it was. Not a smart idea.

As for our heroes, the fight is only just getting underway, and the worst is yet to come. Next time they'll have their hands full with the **Final Call** , same Darkwing Time, same Darkwing Website!


	8. Thieves Paradise: Out of Control

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Thieves Paradise Pt. 4 – Out Of Control  
**

* * *

 _Elsewhere,_

Julia no longer had any idea what she was doing. She could no longer think about what she had gotten herself into. She couldn't focus on anything, really, except the fleeting whims of doubt.

It was madness all around her. She lost track of the Fearsome Five ages ago. Bodies were flying all around her. But so far, everyone was paying her no attention. Maybe it was because they didn't recognize her. Or maybe, she dared not to think, it was because they _did._

But it didn't matter. Darkwing was here. That was all she knew. She had to find him. She wasn't sure what she was going to do when she did, but she knew that she had to, no matter what. She caught sight of him once or twice, slipping through the crowd, fighting pirates, but he was always gone in a flash before she could get on his trail.

She didn't even know how she had gotten to this end of the room, with the bulk of the pirates' treasure. There were unmarked containers and files strewn every where, all with the very identifiable FOUL logo stamped somewhere across them. If she let herself, she might have been stewing in irony: any one of these secrets would have absolutely made her career, were Glomgold not poised to ruin it.

Suddenly, she heard a voice a short distance away from her. A familiar voice, at that. She snuck forward carefully: just because nobody had targeted her yet, didn't mean she ought to be stupid about this.

It was Stewie, with a small cadre of Davidson gang members. He was pointing here and there, directing his cohorts towards various containers – though Julia doubted he had any more idea than the others on which of them were actually valuable or not. "This FOUL swag's worth a fortune! Get yer lead ou', boys!"

Julia realized with a start that they were combing the area, and she likely didn't want to be seen. Stewie had promised no quarter the next time they met, and she knew history was little reason not to believe him.

She didn't have much time, and the gang members were spreading out, cutting off ways of escape. Searching wildly, she spotted a large container that was already slightly ajar. There could have been anything from toxic poisons to explosives to napalm inside, but that was a risk she would have to take. She dove in.

"What th-" Stewie shouted angrily, for a single tense moment Julia feared he had seen her dipping into the box. There was no sound but frantic steps all around her. Were they about to pull the lid off of her hiding place? Was she about to die, after everything that happened?

But then instead of a lost lid, there came the sound of a fight came from outside. Stewie's voice rang out again, this time with a far more panicked tone. "We got company!"

Several loud _thwack_ s and a series of pained shrieks followed. Stewie's boys were getting their tailfeathers handed to them, and from the familiar chuckling accompanying the fight, it wasn't hard to figure out whom it was doing the handing. Darkwing had gotten the drop on them.

Which made sense. If the fighting was slowing down, that meant looting is next, and the one thing Darkwing and SHUSH wanted less than a huge battle in the middle of St. Canard was for any of these materials out there on the streets. She had wanted a chance to get close to Darkwing, and here it was… though now that the moment was here, it was far harder to ignore the fact that she had no idea what to do next.

A jostling took her out of her thoughts. The sounds of fighting had died down in the meantime, but someone remained. She peeked out of the small crack between the lids, and just barely made out Stewie's features. He was right on front of her, though he had no idea!

This wasn't good at all. Desperate as he was sure to be, if he picked the box up and found her inside, he might do something terrifying and drastic.

Julia shuddered as the possibilities ran through her head, and more. Worse than being discovered, what if he were actually able to lift the container (who knew, in this town?) without realizing she was there and take her back to his hideout?

Back to the Davidsons, the most brutal gang in town! And away from Darkwing! Away from her salvation!

"Dang. Lost the boys!" He was saying, as a cold resolve came over Julia. She scrounged around in the dark of her hiding place and found something solid. "Least he's gone, and I ain't empty han-"

 _BONG!_

Julia had never struck anyone in her life. For some reason that made her stomach turn, just a little, it almost felt good to do so to someone she had hated for so long.

Stewie fell forward, but he twisted a little as he fell and his beak was left straight up. He was out cold, but his beak was facing right at her. It made her shudder a little more, so for double measure she imagined the face of her deplorable stoolie as Flintheart Glomgold, and instead she felt a smile on her lips.

Then mentally shamed herself for thinking such a thing. She had to focus. Otherwise, this was going to drive her crazy!

She glanced at the thing she had used to knock Stewie out. It was solid block with some etchings on it, possibly some sort of code. Was this all that had been in this enormous box? It seemed useless, though perhaps that was the point.

Out of a passing curiosity, she rummaged around to find what _else_ she had been sharing that cramped space with. It seemed empty, but green as she was she had been around the block enough times to know when something was more than met the eye. An indeed a deeper search found a false bottom right beneath her feet. But there was no way in, at least not from inside the box.

Despite her situation, her reporter's intrigue was flaring up. She looked around – Darkwing really had moved on, so nobody was in this part of the room at the moment besides a few unconscious criminals. She would have at least a few seconds to indulge this interest. She didn't know why, but doing so calmed her nerves a little.

She checked over the outside: featureless, uniform… but someone had evidently dropped it, for there was a hole on one of the sides. A hole that was suspiciously just the right size for a certain useless block…

She slipped the block inside the hole, and with a _klik_ the false bottom popped open. Julia curiosity had grown so much that she didn't even think about the fact that she was snooping around the secret, illegal property of a covert terrorist organization – which would probably give anyone else pause.

That said, the inside was a bit more underwhelming than her whims had hoped. There was no other false bottom, yet she only found an aged bit of machinery with a tiny jewel implanted within it, and a small note inside the box with some writing. An interesting quarry, sure, but not relevant to what she was trying to do. And, she realized with a sigh, she had wasted enough time.

But she was about to leave, had _almost_ turned away, when out of the corner of her eye she spotted the writing on the note. She stopped herself, not entirely sure why, and turned back to look it over more closely.

 _Mental Utilitization Charger: Keystone_

 _Synapse Project: Trial A078_

 _Senior Researcher: Who Wants To Know?_

 _Objective: Replication of telepathic enhancement exhibited by extraterrestrial subject, post-removal of subject by ENEMY #01._

 _Results: Inconclusive_

For a second, she stared at it – unable to turn away again. Something in her brilliant reporter's subconscious knew this file was important before she completely processed it. Then it hit her.

She flashed back to her and Cal McClure's conversation, a before, though it felt like years ago to her now. An extraterrestrial who attached itself to an average marten, giving him great power. Power that FOUL would have killed to get their hands on.

The power to _read minds._ And this was an attempt to replicate its abilities?

"This… this is _it!_ "

The stared blankly at the device below her, seeing it clearly for the miracle it was for the very first time. If she could get it working, she could find out Darkwing's identity easy: she would just have to read his mind, no muss, no fuss. She could know everything he knows, without any more need to lie, to cheat, to risk the lives of herself or others. She didn't even have to meet him face to face…

"Put that down if you know what's… what, what?"

She winced, to hear that voice. So much for skipping this meeting. Heart pounding, hands trembling, she turned to find her target right in front of her…

* * *

 _Meanwhile, on the Other Side of the Hall,_

Much like Plumis, if NegaHonker had known what he was getting himself into when he donned his double's armor and traipsed into battle with Darkwing and his insipid friends, he might have done things a little differently.

He had known about the Air Pirates' auction, of course. It was too big of a variable not to keep his ear to the ground about. But he wasn't expecting this much madness. A room full of criminal high rollers, perhaps. A daring raid from what passed as the law in this universe. Maybe a high profile theft or two while everyone's back was turned.

But this – full scale warfare in a dangerously enclosed space – this made him a lot more homesick than he was expecting: he had taken part in fights just like this dozens of times in his short life, all for the glory of Negaduck. But he couldn't afford to get homesick now. If he indulged himself, he could blow the whole thing.

He hovered above the brawl, occasionally firing glue bombs and the like at choice targets for appearance's sake. He would just have to wait for his moment.

Still…

His eyes swept across the spoils the Pirates had foolishly assumed the crowd _wouldn't_ go insane over. He had to admit, he was sorely tempted. Just one of those secret plans could turn the tide in the Negaverse.

Down there were maps to secret SHUSH and FOUL bases that would be perfect as hideouts, at some of which probably existed in both universes. Mutative elixirs for FOUL supersoldiers, no doubt designed by this universe's version of Dr. Fossil - perhaps Negaduck was unwise to have Honker kill him in their own universe, dangerous thought though that was. And not to mention the weapons: laser, plasma, even a couple _thermonuclear –_ he had never been to his own Thembria, but now he definitely wanted to visit _._ Their Dr. Bellum had gone off with NegaHooter, leaving Negaduck's group tragically mad scientist-less. These would ease the pain nicely…

"Hey!" Came a shout from below him. The Crimson Avenger was also down there, currently dodging gunfire. "Focus, would you?"

He briefly considered letting her die, but – again - with so many enemies around losing his cover would be disastrous. So he swooped past his "partner" and fired a concussive round at the gangsters shooting at her. They were scattered like marbles, unconscious but alive.

Concussive rounds. Glue bombs. He sneered: what a waste of good ordnance. His double was such a pansy.

Crimson came marching up behind him. She whipped him around – more forcefully than he would have expected she would, given his intel about her and his double – and glared angrily into his face.

"Don't give me a reason." She said, seething. NegaHonker only blinked in confusion, though she couldn't see it behind the visor. "If there's something you want, it can wait until we're out of this mess. Then we can settle it. But right now, _keep your head in the game or we're all screwed!"_

With that, she shoved him back and leapt past to take down the next group of criminals, leaving him behind – hovering there with a dumbfounded expression. Realization came shortly after.

 _She knew!_

An unaccountable rage filled him. Forget not letting her die. For a moment, NegaHonker very seriously considered killing her himself. To think he had put so much of his excitement into this con, and she had gone and figured it out ahead of time! The nerve!

So she thought she could counter his plan with one of her own, did she? She thought he _had_ to play along for now? That he actually cared about this chaotic mess around them? That he would let her wait and think of a way to stop him later? Well, he wasn't about to let her unravel his plans.

Nobody told him what to do but Negaduck! To heck with her, to heck with Darkwing, with Techno, with all of these idiots! He didn't need them! He could snare his own Gosalyn in his trap another way if he had to!

Finishing her right now would be easy. She had foolishly turned her back to him, believing him to be as invested in the fight as herself. But perhaps he was being too paranoid about his cover. This was a warzone. Nobody would be able to tell if, say, a sudden shot to the back of the head was caused by foe or friend. He took careful aim, making sure to use a weapon that would be harder to trace, and…

Something struck him hard on the side of the head.

"Ha! Gotcha, gadget boy!"

It was Rowe, who clearly had no idea what he had just done. That sense of rage filled NegaHonker anew as he remembered their earlier conversation. Didn't _anyone_ in this blasted universe _stay out of his way?!_

Completely seeing red at this point, NegaHonker dove at Rowe and seized the surprised otter by the hair on his neck. He squirmed and tried to get free as NegaHonker lifted them above the rest of the crowd, where there would be no escape.

"H-hey! Easy on the fur there, mate!" Rowe yelped.

NegaHonker responded by clenching Rowe's fur tighter, reveling in the sound of his discomfort. "I don't think so, 'mate.'" He hissed. "You just blew your last chance."

Rowe's eyes widened, in both confusion and an uneasy sense of fear. "W-what're you talking about?" He said carefully, or as carefully as one could be when dangling several feet above the ground from the scruff of their neck. Clearly he, like most from this universe, wasn't used to this level of assertiveness from people with his counterpart's face. He would have to change that. "Let me go, mate!"

"Again, no." NegaHonker grinned, but without any humor or mirth. Rowe gulped. "I gave you a chance to protect yourself, didn't I? But you thought it would be funnier to slam a door in my face. Now you have to live with the consequences."

"Mate? Y-you mean… you're that crazy Low-Techno bloke from the Negaverse!" Rowe gasped, and began squirming with even more enthusiasm. "Ah crud on stick!"

NegaHonker's scowl deepened at Rowe's ridiculous nickname for him, not to mention being called "crazy." The sheer level of irritation this universe was capable of slinging his way was unbelievable: it was no wonder Negaduck was so angry all the time. It was very difficult to swallow the urge to snap some kind of comeback, but he had many better things worth worrying about than an insolent, wannabe villain of an otter. He would just have to satisfy himself by simply blowing Rowe's wretched head clean off his shoulders: surely _something_ in his double's arsenal could accomplish that.

Rowe's began shouting and pulling harder as NegaHonker lifted what he assumed to be some kind of jet stabilizer to his captive's face. One spurt would leave him adequately roasted, and if his cohorts could hear him, they weren't able to get to him in time. NegaHonker, of course, was unmoved. After all, where he came from Rowe was already a thorn in his side – and nobody _NegaHonker_ knew would have cared to see that Rowe dead either…

But twice in as many minutes, he allowed his vengeful urge to maim and murder override his ability to watch his surroundings. Which meant that, again for the second time, he was completely blindsided as something struck him at high speeds _just_ before he would have fired.

This time, the impact nearly knocked him to the ground. With difficulty – more difficulty, he thought gruffly, than his more experienced counterpart would have had – he was able to right himself in midair, just in time to see the Crimson Avenger land catlike on the ground, with Rowe safely in her arms.

"So you _do_ have a soft spot for me after all, mate," Rowe said slyly, perhaps a bit teasingly to NegaHonker's ears. He happily hopped out of Crimson's grip before she could inevitably drop him for that comment, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Crimson eyed him for a moment, but kept her stance squared tensely in NegaHonker's direction. "Keep dreaming, Rowe. You guys are just about the most wanted crooks in Calisota right now." She smirked at him, tapping a pair of dangling handcuffs at her waist. "So once I take care of this, you and the rest of the Five better be ready."

Predictably, after hearing that Rowe vanished almost immediately. And as Crimson didn't even watch him go, she obviously expected him to. This somehow made NegaHonker even more frustrated. He would freely admit that his rage was deeply overriding his common sense, but he didn't care. He was a mercenary at heart, and he wanted _blood_ now!

"Ohoho…" He laughed raggedly, showing more anger than humor. "That's it. I'm gonna shoot _somebody_ today, and nobody's gonna stop me!"

"That's pretty unbecoming talk for a hero, 'Techno,'" she said wryly.

NegaHonker sneered. "You should talk. Protecting your enemy, a criminal? That ain't so heroic either!"

"Between the two of you, I'm pretty sure I know which is the worse threat. I had hoped you had the good sense to bide your time, but I guess sense is one of the things that doesn't translate across universes."

NegaHonker scowled at the implied insult. "See, that's another thing that's backwards about this universe. Me or anyone I know would've just just offed him and moved onto me. In fact, you probably should've taken me out the moment you realized who I was. But instead of finishing them off early, you just let potential problems lie. Pretty stupid, if you ask me."

"And insights like that make you think you have grounds to talk about what's heroic or not?"

"Nah. Being 'heroic' is for idiots. Case in point, my wimp of a double." He grinned, showing teeth, but there was nothing mirthful or warm about his smile. His only pleasure was in the look on Crimson's face when he insulted her parter. "But this whole situation is getting me pretty steamed, and banter keeps the temper down you know."

"Sorry to break it to you, but the duck who's _supposed_ to wear that suit is no idiot." Crimson shot back. What little levity there was in her barbs was being replaced with a hard determination. "In fact, I'd say he's better than you in every conceivable way." She fell into a tense stance, waiting for the opportunity to spring. "And I want him back. _Now!_ "

"Ooh, sorry Juliet." NegaHonker laughed. "I'll be holding onto my sissier half for a little while longer. But I wouldn't worry, you'll be going to the same place pretty soon."

"Where is he?" Crimson shouted, no longer playing around.

Outwardly NegaHonker only scoffed, but he was as ready to fight as she. Moreso, in fact. "Like that's gonna work." He said, lifting one of the suit's gauntlets. "I would've preferred to do this when you weren't looking, but…"

The suit's weapons began to prime again, NegaHonker intending to give Crimson a taste of what Rowe had just narrowly avoided. But Crimson wasn't waiting for him to strike first.

"Bring it on!"

She bounded towards him and leapt, her leg arched in a perfect web kick. Not one to back down so easily either, NegaHonker met the charge head on, both springing forward at full speed.

The real fight was only just starting…

* * *

 _Back at the FOUL Stockpile,_

Darkwing approached the wayward reporter with a bit of caution, mostly due to the fact that he had no idea what was going on in front of him.

"Julia Plumis?" He said in confusion, causing her to wince.

He hadn't been expecting to find a civilian here, let alone a member of the press. He had hoped SHUSH's control over the situation would be too tight for – at least - the _public_ to get through their holes. He already knew the criminal element was driving truckloads past their blind spots, but this was a surprise.

On top of that, Julia Plumis had very obviously seen better days. She looked haggard, like she had been through a lot in a short amount of time. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there were the traces of something wild and suspect in her expression. And that was without even thinking about the fact that whatever state she was in had led to her standing in a box dangerously brandishing a piece of potentially dangerous FOUL contraband.

Yes, there was no doubt in his finely honed detective mind that something was very wrong here.

"S-stay back, Darkwing!" She shouted roughly. "I… I'm warning you!"

And up went the red flags. The possibility of this being just a routine and _incredibly_ ill-advised visit from the press was getting slim.

But until that was confirmed, he has a job to do. "Calm down, Miss Plumis. You're safe now." He held out a hand comfortingly. "This is no place for civilians. Just step away from the… whatchamacallit… and we'll get you someplace sa-"

"No! I can't!"

Uh oh. A million reasons for a turn like this flashed through Darkwing's experienced mind. Addictive power source? Mind control device? Last heirloom from a rich uncle who happened to be in FOUL? Granted, the last one was a little farfetched…

"Sorry, Miss Plumis," he pressed, deciding not to bother with that if he could help it. "But I'm going to have to take it anyway. You don't know what that thing can do."

She gripped the device tighter. "I think I've got a better idea about it than you do."

Was he getting lectured about villainous machinations by a misplaced reporter? This was… bemusing, to say the least. He was about to say something to express just how confusing this was getting, when she tapped something on the machine and pointed something unpleasant looking at him. It was glowing, no less, which made it double suspect.

"Hey, watch where you're aiming that thing!"

She remained silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, it sounded like she was holding back tears. "I'm… I'm sorry. Really. I wish I didn't have to do this…"

"Well, whatever it is," Darkwing tried tentatively. "If you don't want to do it, then you _probably_ shouldn't."

"I don't have a choice. Otherwise, I'll never…" She trailed away, but instead of elaborating she suddenly turned away, snapping awkwardly to another subject by fiddling with the device instead. "This won't hurt, I don't think."

"Lucky me."

She snorted, sounding more bitter than anything. "You know…" she started softly. "You saved my life once. Did I tell you that?"

Darkwing did recall her saying something like that the last time they met. He had saved quite a few people – to say the least – over his years as a superhero, so he didn't bother asking her to elaborate. But, if the story could keep her from activating an unknown work of mad science…

"Do tell."

"I wasn't always a rising media starlet," she scoffed at herself, her voice full of self-loathing. "In the past, years and years ago, I was a falling kid in a bad crowd."

That hadn't been what Darkwing was expecting to hear. Maybe a bit about nearly getting crushed by a supervillain. Or a fall off a rooftop, as is so common with reporters who meet superheroes. But it was worth listening to more intently all the same.

"It was stupid. This crowd as the dangerous sort, maybe even the monstrous sort. They hurt people. Stole things." She looked away, but Darkwing could just barely see tears of shame in her eyes. "But I didn't know any better. I wish I had."

"One day, the others planned to rob a jewelry store. I was there, desperate to get some approval from the gang. But then you showed up." She laughed now, but it was a cold sound. "You made short work of every last one of them. Except me. When it was my turn, you saw I was a kid and… didn't."

Darkwing squinted, racking his brain for the details. It was striking a bell. A crime wave. A neighborhood gang, some of whom were way too young for that kind of life. It was something that he ran into more often than he would have liked – even that ran together, sometimes.

"You asked me where I was from." Plumis continued. She was smiling at him, tears dripping down her face. "You got my story. You said I was better than this. It… changed me. I dedicated my life to proving you right. You saved me from prison. Thanks to you I made something of myself. And I never got to thank you for that."

"You know…" Darkwing said softly. "I think I remember that. I didn't recognize you."

She nodded. "That was by design. Nobody was supposed to see the old me, in the new me. It was a brand new start."

That made sense. But it didn't explain what was right in front of him. "So if you're so grateful," Darkwing noted, "what the heck are you doing?!"

Plumis' smile dropped, as she was dragged back to reality and the present day. "… let's just say I've been forced to accept the truth. All of that, that supposed new start, none of it matters. It was all for nothing but… but I don't want to lose it! I can't go back to the way things were!" She tightened her grip on the device. Darkwing tensed – this had taken a sudden turn. "I just _can't!"_

This kind of confrontation was _not_ what he had expected to see when he grappled into this madhouse. If it were, he would have dragged Launchpad along – the big lug was always better at empathizing with people - he was like a walking calming effect. But no matter, Darkwing would just have to give it his best shot.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but slow down! I can help you out of whatever happening to you, just don't…"

'Tell me who you are." She said abruptly. Something in her eyes had changed.

He stared at her. "…what?"

"That's what I want. That's what I need." She continued, hating herself with every word. "You want to avoid this thing turning on? Then tell me your name, and I won't need it. You…" she paused, gritting her teeth. "You owe it to all of us."

His best shot, as it turned out, was running a bit slow on the uptake today. But even with thinking, this made no sense. "Wait a minute, I can't just…"

Plumis didn't give him a moment more to try and convince her, perhaps because she knew he probably would. As soon as it was clear he would say no, she pressed the ominous red button on the device – as required on most terrible works of mad science. The entire machine shuddered and glowed as an unknown power built up within it, a high pitched and very ominous whine filling he immediate area with an increasingly tense tremolo.

Darkwing sprang forward at the last second, arms stretched too far away. But he was too late. "NO!"

The whine burst into a loud ring. A moment later, it was beyond what could be defined as loud. An instant after that, it was overwhelming and steadily growing worse. It entered Darkwing's skull of its own accord and rattled his bones, rending his thoughts iota from iota. He glanced ahead, and through his splitting headache he could see that Plumis was going through the same thing: she was doubled over, clutching her head and shuddering painfully. She was moaning pitifully, her voice growing more distorted with every moment.

And they weren't alone. Screeches of pain echoed from everywhere in the hall at once. At once, _everyone_ was off of their feet. Their minds were joined into a single, festering miasma.

He had to shut the device off somehow, before everyone went completely nuts from this pain! With the kind of focus one only gets from many years training, he pulled himself to his feet. He would have to be quick: a running start was needed, definitely. If he was precise, he could topple it over with a well placed Double Web Kick!

But mid-run, he faltered. Something was wrong. That wasn't how he did a Web Kick: the footing was all wrong. Whose movements were these? Certainly not his!

He attempted to course correct in leap, only to falter against his own misguided instincts and fall onto his face. He tried to jump back to his feet, but his balance was off – as if he were twisting the wrong way - and he fell again.

What was going on? It was if he was doing someone else's moves!

And that – in the throes of a martial arts existential crisis – is when he started hearing the whispers…

" _Aaargh! It wasn't supposed to be like this! What have I done?"_

" _The pain! The agony! I knew this auction was a bad idea! I didn't even get to buy nothin'!"_

" _What am I thinking? This isn't normal!"_

He clutched his head, attempting to squeeze them out. But they wouldn't budge. And all the while, Plumis' reactions became all the more animated…

* * *

 _Meanwhile, In a Poor Mental State,_

Neither Crimson nor the false Techno were doing much better on their side of the room. Everywhere around them, thugs, pirates and agents alike were debilitated as an unfathomable pain filled the collective minds of the underground auctioneers.

The hero and villain were themselves kneeling alike across from one another, heads held in a vice. The each tried to stand, but they were aching too hard to restart the battle.

"Wha… what are you doing?" Crimson shouted to her adversary, sure that whatever was going on had to be his fault. She winced, as her voice felt like it was echoing a thousand times against an aching eardrum.

"Me!" NegaHonker replied to the accusation. "This is _your_ twisted universe! Aarrgh, my _head!_ " He clutched his temple fell further to the ground, groaning.

For now, at least, he seemed to be too debilitated to fight. But the Crimson Avenger was made of sterner stuff.

Stowing the pain with as much focus as she could bring up, she pulled herself to her feet. It took a try or two, but she knew she had to get onto solid ground, so she willed herself to do so. If she could incapacitate NegaHonker while he was weakened, she could then focus on finding her father and stopping whatever this was without worry! But measuring her balance was nearly impossible: she had never been intoxicated before, but she imagined this was what it was like.

But it was hard even to string a full thought together, not with so much pain and so many… interruptions. No wonder she felt like jelly. She stopped and held her head again. She could beat this, she knew she could. She just had to _think…_

" _Aw jeez, I think I'm gonna hurl. It's what I get for wearin' one of my good set a' chompers, too! I'll be cleaning these for weeks!"_

" _Did I leave the oven on? My wife is going to be so pissed if I come home empty handed_ and _burned down the kitchen!"_

" _I was born to cheat and lie. I'm a mean, rotten guy. I was born to cheat and lie..."_

" _Just when you think this universe has enough crazy annoyances! What in tailfeathers is this? CAN'T I KILL ONE STINKING HERO?!"_

She gasped, and the shock nearly sent her back to the ground. That… had been freaky. None of those thoughts were hers. It was like her own head was thinking things without her permission.

She thought about the things she "heard" and realized something else. They weren't just idle, alien thoughts. Unless she was mistaken, that last thought was NegaHonker's! She stared down at the quivering villain a few feet from her, thinking quickly through the pain.

Everyone was tapping into the minds of those around them! And with the number of secrets being held by herself and her friends, and a couple of enemies, this was not something she wanted happening longer than strictly necessary.

And speaking of which. Another alien thought was flowing into her brain. It was becoming stronger, sharper, and this time it was more than just anything unsaid…

 _He could hardly believe that trick worked again! Who answers a phone during a fight, for Cretaceous' sake? But then, that's what an inferior brain got you, even given how Darkwing had been… improved by his own machinations. He would have to blast the meddle duckasaurus and be done with it – too bad, he was a masterful specimen. But even though he dodged the first time, he wouldn't do so again…_

" _You're amoeba, Darkwing..!"_

Crimson gasped again – that feeling was getting old. But she remembered that! But not from that point of view. If she remembered right, she had been on a building down the way, watching Darkwing's peril – and her own – from a distance. But that meant…

"Whoa!"

She jumped out of the way just in time to Dr. Fossil's talon's swooped past her face. Her balance was still put off by the pain, and she nearly stumbled, but she caught herself just in time.

He corrected himself in midair and hovered over Crimson's head. Dr. Fossil didn't appear to crippled by the pain. In fact, to Crimson's great annoyance he was looking quite energetic. "A ha! Feeling under the weather?" He shot, grinning. "That's why dinosaurs are number one! You won't see us knocked out by psionic attack!"

"That's because your brains are too small," she shot back. Had to get him distracted: her being like this made matching the mad scientist's faster reptilian reflex… inadvisable. But if she could make him angry…

Unfortunately for her plans, he laughed instead. "Should've seen that coming." He chortled, swooping out of physical range. "But hey, this is revenge by proxy, so I'm flexible!" He captured some air beneath his wing, and levered a gun at her – the same one both she remembered him wielding when they first met. "Be sure to tell Darkwing I liked at your stupid comeback, if you ever get to see him!"

This was not good. Outmaneuvering him was impossible like this. Outfoxing him wasn't looking likely. She had a far more dangerous villain on the ropes but quickly waking, and an entire hall of crooks to deal with. She didn't have time for this!

Luckily, she learned from the best. And when Darkwing Duck finished selling his accolades, nobody could do the direct approach better…

Quickly, she pulled out her gas gun and fired a pellet into his back – she was off target, but nailed still his wing. The mutated doctor went down in a cloud of paralyzing smoke.

"We'll have a dozen more comebacks ready next time we meet, doc." She scoffed. With that done, she dusted her hands off and turned back to NegaHonker.

Who was gone.

"Typical."

Suddenly, another thought…

 _The glue bombs need to be thrown, even if it's more cumbersome, because shooting them could burst them early. Careful not to let them rupture._

She blinked. The one wasn't a voice. And it wasn't a memory, like the last time. It was barely words, more like… knowledge. Muscle memory that she suddenly _knew,_ as if she had always mastered it.

Whatever the case, she knew how NegaHonker was going to attack. She would have to concern herself with how he had become so versed with Techno's suit later. Just like Fossil, she hopped aside just in time to avoid being encased in glue. She turned to the source of the shot, to meet NegaHonker flying directly at her, murder in his eyes.

Instead of going for the tackle he stopped short directly in front of her, and used the element of surprise to take a swing that she only barely blocked. She was having trouble focusing on her training with all the mental noise, and her moves were sluggish… at first. She couldn't rely on her rage to pull her through, as NegaHonker did.

But then again... just as that thought occurred to her, in the place of her own clarity came more unfamiliarity.

 _Straight punch, practiced. Break beak, then kick kneecap. Wail on face until they fall._

She dodged the next punch on an intuition she had never had before, then as if she had somehow become a mirror she responded with the exact same move in reverse. It was a rough, more brutal way of fighting than she was used to, but it came to her as if she had been doing it her whole life.

NegaHonker was caught by surprise and took the punch to the face, but twisted out of the way before the kick could follow. But it was a solid hit, and he was left with a cracked visor – she would have to help Techno fix it later, unless SHUSH was no longer being stingy with replacement parts.

NegaHonker grit his beak at her, his expression a mix of enraged and utterly lost. But his eyes brightened as he realized what was going on, and Crimson quickly discovered that he was getting the same boon. Whenever she tried to pull one of her own maneuvers, he seemed to know exactly how to dodge. Then he would use one of her own kicks, or some piece of gymnastics that she wasn't happy being on the opposite side of (now she knew how the villains felt).

At least her gadgets were still on her belt, but she didn't much like her skills being out there in the hands of the enemy. She would just have to make sure he didn't use them for long. She had to do this fast, for…

… _the plan had gone perfectly. None of Rockerduck's cronies even gave them a second look. No one even thought to check under the tarp for contraband. If being a 'hero' made people this stupid, maybe he should keep up the act for a little while. He got to the upper labs so fast, he was actually ahead of schedule. Maybe he would have a few minutes to rough up his pansy double a little bit before getting the surprise prepared…_

"… Techno!" She gasped. Followed by a haymaker straight to NegaHonker's jaw. He fell to the ground, the pain from the hit causing him to again lose focus against the pain in his head.

She sprung upon him and pulled him up by his chest feathers. It was the same grip he had Rowe in earlier, but for the moment she didn't care. "I'm going to ask you one last time. Where is he?"

The memory had given her clues. The errand at Standard Preen was involved, somehow. Some kind of upper lab? She could piece it together, but she didn't want to waste the time. He was going to tell her now!

He sneered at her, but barely fought her hold. "You'll find him, hero. In fact, I dare you to!" Suddenly, he shot a projectile straight at the ground. Crimson looked down, prepared to react to whatever he was planning, before realizing that that's exactly what he wanted her to do. The shot exploded in a brilliant light and hit her straight out in the eyes – and suddenly, it was her turn to be disoriented.

She fell back with a strangled groan, feeling him worm out of her grasp. When she finally shook off the flash, she saw him – an armored blob – hovering high above any of their heads. He was still off balance, thanks to the pain, but he clearly didn't need to be any more.

"I'm done with this madness!" He shouted. "Tell you what, toots: catch me if you can!"

And with that he turned and fled. He nearly bumped into a wall once or twice, but that couldn't stop him. And neither could she, in her state. He flew up and out the way they came, and didn't come back – not for a parting word or a final shot. He was gone.

She sighed and held her head. She had gotten better at weathering it, but neither the headache nor the voices had gotten any better. In fact, after the flash to the face and now that she no longer had NegaHonker to focus on, they were getting _worse._ She swayed on her feet. She would really need a vacation after this misadventure…

But that was a thought for later. Now, she shakily tapped her communicator and stammered a report into it. "N-NegaHonker escaped. Sorry. We need to… to…"

" _What? The intruder from the Negaverse was here?!"_

It didn't do her heard good to hear Navis' voice on the other side: she had forgotten to talk on the personal channel. But she felt much better when her father's voice, struggling as much as she was but still going, came on as well.

"W-we'll take care of him later. First thing's first: FOUL weapon on the fritz. But I have a plan…"

Crimson was almost surprised. An old FOUL superweapon? That certainly explained all this: it was probably only a matter of time before some idiot activated one of the assets the Pirates had foolishly set out where anyone could mess with them.

Yes, after all this she _definitely_ needed a vacation. In fact – she thought, knees giving way as another slew of unfamiliar thoughts flashed through her head – maybe she should sit down for a second or two…

* * *

 _Back At The Epicenter,_

Darkwing advanced on Plumis: one step at a time, one clear, focused thought at a time. Plumis was draped against the device – the only sign she was skill conscious being the occasional thought of hers popping into his head.

Hers weren't the only ones. He tried not to let his mind wander. He tried extra hard not to let any thoughts that weren't his distract him. He didn't even look away: all around him, previously incapacitated goons were up and brawling with each other, using fighting moves he knew were his own, or fencing skills he had seen in the fight between Pete and the Masked Mallard, or even the slew of unpredictable attacks he memorized from his fights with Quackerjack.

Few fully had a handle on any of those abilities; most were floundering and falling over each other, knocking themselves out more often than the people they were fighting against. He had even had to push aside one or two of them himself. But he never gave them any true attention. They were not his concern right now. He had one job. And he made sure others had theirs.

"Navis. This weapon has nearly everyone inside too weak and disoriented too do much of anything." He said, staggering himself in a way that would certainly prove his point if Navis could only see him. "It's too dangerous to enter, but once I give the word, send your second wave of agents in."

" _You're suggesting we thin the perimeter, and risk letting the perpetrators escape?"_

"I'm _suggesting…"_ He hissed, then stopped himself. The strain of getting frustrated just made it hurt worse. "I'm suggesting you mop them up while they can't do anything about it! Your agents in here are just as useless right now, and if we give everyone a chance to recover it'll just start the brawl all over again."

It was a maddeningly long time as Navis considered this, as he knew she would. In the meantime, he inched closer to Plumis and the device. They were almost within range of his gas gun, now.

Finally, she responded. _"Do what you have to, Darkwing._ _We'll wait for the signal."_

"What do they say about small favors again?" He said to himself, sneering, though he made sure the communicator was off before saying so. He was in range of Plumis now. He didn't want to shoot or attack, but he was running out of options: he didn't want to think about how long it would be before this thing did permanent damage.

The last FOUL agent he met experimenting with this stuff – back when they were FOWL – accidentally blew up his own head. He didn't want to imagine the mess for the janitors if that started happening here…

As he approached, Julia finally pulled herself off of the device. She forced her eyes open, just in time to see Darkwing standing dangerously close to her.

While everyone else in the room had dealt with a nasty level of pain and the occasional intrusion into their minds, she had been bombarded _constantly._ The false memories and voices were ever-present, so much so that as she stared at the masked vigilante she had to take a moment to even remember where she was. She barely knew _who_ she was a this point.

But she did know this was a problem. Darkwing couldn't stop her. Was he more of a problem than herself, and what she had just caused? She couldn't say. But…

 _Since when did supervillains throw parties, anyway? It was like the terrible offspring of a trap and a practical joke. He kept jumping whenever any of his known enemies so much as moved, expecting a tommy gun to come out from behind the bar or a flesh-eating fly trap to on his every chair. But then, perhaps that was the point. Launchpad was having fun, of course. And Crimson and Techno actually seemed to be enjoying themselves as well despite it all, which he stubbornly blamed on youth. But he couldn't help but notice Quackerjack, Rowe and Bushroot were suspiciously no longer around, and wondered if this kind of misdirection would be a regular thing with the Five from now on…_

"You have to shut it down, Plumis!" Darkwing barked, interrupting her reverie. She just stared at him, almost blank. "Whatever you want can't be worth all this!"

Darkwing. In a strange, ironic way, this was exactly what she had wished for. She was getting flashes of Darkwing's life. He was close enough now that it was primarily him coursing through her mind: his skills, his instincts, his memories.

"T-tell me..." She spat out, though she could hardly focus on his response even if he did make one.

The mind wasn't built to take the mental images of another: the skills she could muster, but the memories were tearing her apart. Yet still… a little more, and she would have what she needed. She was so close…

 _As he reflected on all that she had done for everyone – for all of St. Canard - he was struck by just how proud he was of her. Words would never express it, no less than he had felt every day since he adopted her. Her and Techno: who knew the nebbish kid from down the way would grow to be so strong. They had learned everything he needed to teach them long ago. Some days, he wondered if she even needed him as much as she sometimes told him she did. She had so much spirit. Enough to save the city. Enough to save the entire world. His little girl blue…_

"I'm going to shut it down myself if you won't." Darkwing shouted. He had pulled his gas gun out of its holster while she was… distracted. "Stop that thing or get away from it, I don't care which!"

He was stumbling closer, still stunned by the device's power, but forcing so much focus that it barely mattered. He really _would_ be able to end this, as he promised.

She couldn't let that happen! She was getting closer. He couldn't stop it now!

Unable to even talk, she draped herself over the device, trying to shield it from Darkwing's inevitable attack

He sighed, sounding more disappointed than angry. "Darn it, Plumis. This is probably going to hurt both of us…"

She wasn't paying attention. She was long in memories. Maybe, she realized, the very first memory that mattered.

 _It was a heck of a rush! Defeating that crazy guy with the lightning bolts – Megavolt, was it? - was like the catalyst of a titanic explosion. Actually, there_ _ **had**_ _been a couple of explosions, but this one was 100% within him. He'd finally found himself in that fight. A name came to him from a vague memory, someone oddly familiar who might have inspired him. And so he made a declaration for that ages: for as long as evil reared it's malignant, menacing mug, he would wear the mask of Darkwing Duck! And until the day he died, he would no longer be little Dra-_

This was it! She could practically see his face. She could almost hear the syllables that would save her from Glomgold's greedy wrath…

Suddenly, pain. Electricity. In a literal spark, she realized Darkwing had shot something from his gun to short out the device. Rather than get past her body, he had simply shot it at her feet, engulfing both her and the device at the same time. In what little thought of her own she could pull together, she could hardly blame him.

The memories were being drained from her mind. Images of Darkwing's past were going away. The near knowledge of his identity - she was so _close -_ was gone before she could even grasp it. Like a pot boiled over with only the gristle was left - frying to a burnt crisp. It was far less than she had, yet all of it was refined to something so perfectly, terribly clear.

With the strange and sudden influx of cognitive senses from a renowned detective, she deduced that the device would explode a moment before she felt it. And then she felt nothing at all.

* * *

 _Rising From The Heap,_

Rowe groaned and pulled himself to his feet, his eyes dancing - though much preferable to his head, which was practically swimming. He hadn't made it far from the fight between Crimson and the false Techno before the wave of unfathomable pain and rather unpleasant thoughts slammed into him like a great white shark.

"By the fur..." He murmured to himself. He squinted, trying to take in his surroundings, and found to his muted delight that there wasn't any lasting damage to having his mind blended like a milkshake.

Techno was gone. Crimson was still in the area, but she was dealing with her own aftereffects, and so didn't notice him yet. And much as he would've liked to pop by and say hello, he figured it was best to make himself scarce. He slinked away, hopping over a few gaggles of still-debilitated crooks, until he got to what he thought was a safe enough distance to try and contact the others.

"Sound off! Who's not dead, mate?"

 _"WHAT!?"_ One-Shot's voice came in extremely loud and painfully clear. " _HOLD ON!_ _I THINK I'M STILL DIZZY!"_

"Cripes, mate!" Rowe hissed, looking around to see if the noise had roused anyone else. "We're not deaf, and neither are you!"

" _Hoo hoo!"_ Quackerjack laughed. He sounded like he had just come off of a roller-coaster, which was arguably even more annoying. _"Heck of a rush, huh? Can't wait to play whatever game comes next!"_

 _"You would."_ Beakley quipped. In contrast, she sounded barely moved at all. _"Luckily, I never entered the hall in the first place. I got a good laugh at your little breakdowns from my Bugs, though."_

"You mean to say you never helped us out not once?" Rowe groaned, his irritation growing.

 _"Base brawling is beneath me,"_ she drawled, _"especially without, say, some kind of suit or what have you that I could use to fight evenly."_ Rowe grit his teeth. Beakley had been bugging the others about resources for more weapons, but this was a fine time to rub it in their faces. _"I was planning to coordinate from the air, but then you all collapsed. What was the point?"_

 _"Sorry to agree with Beakley, but she's right. The whole thing really did come to a screeching halt."_ Bushroot said, being fair as always. _"Whatever that effect was, it hit my mutated biology less than you guys. It was all I could do to get Quackerjack and One-Shot out of the way. Sorry I couldn't get to you, Rowe."_

"No worries, Bushy." Rowe shrugged, despite knowing that Bushroot couldn't see him. "It worked out regardless."

 _"WHERE DID THAT CRAP COME FROM, ANYWAY?"_ One-Shot shouted again. Rowe was about to shout right back at him, but stopped short when he heard other voices around him. It wasn't clear whether they were talking on their own or were responding to the noise his communicator was making, but either way he shut off the line and dropped to the ground.

He waited a couple of seconds, until sure that the voices weren't getting any closer. Only then did he look up. Clearly he had wandered further than he thought: there amidst a disheveled heap of boxes was Darkwing. He too was talking into a communicator, no doubt also trying to coordinate things after their little disaster. And a short ways away was Plumis, singed and unconscious on top of the remains of a box clearly labeled FOUL.

Gears turned in Rowe's head. He didn't have the full picture, but he got the feeling this and his current headache were intimately related.

Darkwing was turned the other way, intently engrossed in his conversation and so not looking in either Rowe's or Plumis' direction. Whatever he was going to do, this was the perfect opportunity to do so.

Carefully, he turned on his communicator against and immediately whispered. "I think I know, mate And before you ask, _shut up, Carmichael!_ " He inched closer to Darkwing and Plumis, being careful not to knock over any more of the no doubt dangerous crates in the way. "Everybody else regroup. I'll be with you in a sec."

After a minute, Beakley's voice came in again. She at least had the decency to keep her volume down. _"Aw, come on boss. Really?"_ She whined. It took a second to realize that she must have been watching him using one of her bugs. _"That prissy poser is the one who dragged us into this in the first place!"_

Rowe did pause, at that. As much of a piece of work Beakley was, she did have a point - there were better people to risk being arrested for, especially if he was right and it was Plumis who somehow put them all through that painful mess. But on the other hand, he, Bushroot and Quackerjack - well, less Quackerjack - were trying to run the Five with a sense of honor among thieves. And to him, at least, that meant biting the bullet.

"Hey, she came in with us, she leaves with us," he explained in short. "If you ride with the Fearsome Five, mate, you don't get left behind. Unless you're Cementhead."

Beakley groaned. _"Oh, fine. But you'd better hurry up. SHUSH is cleaning house. Wouldn't want to be in their hands after the Duckburg debacle, now would you boss?"_

Rowe bit back another "I ain't your boss" and took this distressing information to heart. It would be hard enough getting out of there with Darkwing and company on the prowl. If SHUSH's reinforcements were coming in, now was the time to leave post haste. Luckily Darkwing was still talking into his communicator, which gave him just enough leeway to slip behind him, quietly pull Plumis over his shoulder, and slip away.

By the time he heard his nemesis' hilarious "hey, what?!" he was already well on his way out...

* * *

 _Across The Hall,_

Meanwhile, the Fearsome Five weren't the only ones who got their bearings quickly. The Masked Mallard hadn't been aware he took a lie down in the middle of the fight - quite embarassing - but then that had devolved into a rather intense experience. And as someone who had been on quite a few more adventures than his young age might suggest, calling that intense was definitely saying something.

Like the others, his pain was gone. He was no longer being bombarded by strange sounds or visions of lives that were not his own, which was a plus. As a minus, he felt like he had run a marathon. Maybe two.

The tidal wave gangsters who had pulled him away from his intended murky whirlpool pirates were still on the ground, having thankfully not recovered yet. He looked back to where the fight had started. The pirates, including Pete, were gone. In fact, their ungracious hosts were nowhere to be found at all.

Somehow _they_ had had the presence of mind to get out of there, where few had even had enough wits to stand. As nasty a customer as Pete was, the Mallard had to admit he was a resourceful so-and-so. Much like some other ducks he could care to mention.

But that was no matter, now that Darkwing Duck was with him on the case. The world's greatest detective was a finer ally than any when it came to slippery crooks, so no doubt between the two of them those boorish brigands would have their slither straightened out soon... when they had the time to deal with them, that is. For now, it would probably need to be postponed: just as Rowe learned during his own escape, SHUSH agents were pouring into the building to mop up the remains of the quagmire he had just lived through.

They were apprehending people left and right, and given that he was not _quite_ of legal authority at the moment, the thought of being discovered was not a welcome one. Not that he wasn't firmly on the side of right and justice, but authorities as powerful as SHUSH meant questions as inconvenient as they were uncomfortable, and he didn't quite have the clout or the temperament to deal with them.

He would have to rejoin the fight later, as per the usual. So instead he quickly scanned for Darkwing, or perhaps the Crimson Avenger or Techno, hoping to get a chance to thank them do some dramatic swearing in for their next grand adventure. But rather than a friend, he spotted something else that was just as... if not _more_ important.

Or to be precise, he spotted something important that _wasn't there._ With a sigh, he readied his own grappling hook - not as flashy as Darkwing's, but a good means of escape - and took to the air. The formal introduction to Team Darkwing would have to wait, it seemed. They all had more important things to worry about right now...

* * *

 _Back With Darkwing,_

Unbeknownst to Rowe, Darkwing's stunned reaction had been about something completely different. Or at least, given that only an idiot wouldn't notice Plumis' disappearance, about two things at once.

 _"The gold is what?!"_ Navis shouted over the line, immediately after Darkwing had the exact same reaction. The heap of gold coins that had dominated the center of the impromptu auction hall was now absent, as if it had never been there in the first place.

Crimson hopped onto the scene, having likely run there as soon as she regained focus. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was holding her head, and Darkwing was sure he looked just as bad, but there would be time for concern later. "I can confirm that," she said by way of introduction. "I dropped by the stage while on the way here. There isn't a single coin let."

Darkwing frowned. This didn't make a lot of sense. "But so far, all the SHUSH, FOUL and international assets are accounted for." He mused, laughing a little. "Are the Air Pirates so stupid that they would take the _least_ valuable things they had and not, say, _anything_ , else?"

"I dunno. You said Pete was a smart guy, so _something_ has to be up." Crimson replied. "And a mountain of gold _is_ still pretty valuable."

"More valuable than something like _that?_ " Darkwing said incredulously, pointing to the remains of the machine Plumis had activated.

The device was in a dozen smoldering pieces - no amount of fixing was going to remake it into something useable, but perhaps SHUSH would have some use for the rubble. To think something that had caused so much literal pain was so easy to take down... but then, a lot of what had just happened was rather surprising.

"What the heck happened with that, anyway?" Crimson said, reminding Darkwing what her confusion was even more than his own. "You said something about Julia Plumis?"

Darkwing nodded solemnly "Yeah..." He sighed. "I don't know, really. I think she was in some kind of trouble. She was talking nonsense about being sorry but having to learn my identity. I had to take her and the device down together, though I don't know where she went. Last I saw she was unconscious."

Crimson picked up one of the device's pieces, wondering what to make of it. "Whatever it was, I wish we could've helped."

"True. But that, at least, can't be helped."

She looked at him. He was expecting a smirk, but he didn't get one. "Was that a pu-"

 _"Speaking of escapes."_ Navis butted in. _"As expected, the pulling of agents from our secondary net has resulted in holes in our perimeter. While have made significant strides with the arrests we have confirmed so far, we also have confirmed_ escapes _from several high priority targets. Including Steelbeak and a purportedly badly battered Dr. Fossil."_

"That's a shame." Darkwing joked. "I was looking forward to tussling with ol' metal mouth again, for old times sake." His humor wasn't to downplay the problem, of course, but looking at the big picture he still saw this as a win against FOUL. With the Pirates having left their assets alone and the looting foiled, SHUSH was left in possession of tons of important intel on FOUL and other major enemy organizations worldwide. This was a serious blow.

So, even with Steelbeak on the run as usual, Darkwing wasn't too worried.

However Navis, much like Crimson, was not amused. _"I need you to personally mobilize to ensure their speedy apprehension!"_ She spat out angrily, though she made even that sound steady and controlled. _"We cannot let a prize as valuable as Steelbeak slip away from us!"_

"That's going to have to wait." Crimson said bluntly. "Neg-" She paused and looked around, not trusting the unconscious ears of the fallen crowed. "Our visitor from the Negaverse has one of our own. During all that craziness, I got a good look into his head." She stared straight at Darkwing, making sure he heard the next part. "I know where Techno is, and I know what kind of brutal person his kidnapper is. I don't like thinking of what might happen."

The decision didn't take long to make. "Right." Darkwing said. "Let's go. Launchpad!" He called into the communicator. "Get the Thunderquack ready!"

 _"You got it, DW!"_

Navis was not so easily convinced, however. _"You're not serious. This is an ongoing situation-"_

"One that your people have well in hand, Director." Darkwing pressed. He was going to pay for this later, he knew, but this _was_ the right solution. "There's no more need for us here, and there's a good chance a dragnet for Steelbeak will be a waste of everyone's time if he's gone already. He's good at escaping, and Techno needs us _now_." He stopped and thought his next words over. No need to sound _completely_ unhelpful. "Tell your men to check the sewers. He probably had one of his Eggmen carry him through there."

Navis didn't respond for a long moment. "... very well. If that's your choice, Darkwing, we'll do this without you. Navis out."

She then cut off the transmission. Darkwing winced. Oh yeah, he was _definitely_ going to be feeling that in the morning. But there were more important things right now.

He looked over to Crimson. Now that the immediate crisis was over, her staidness was starting to falter. She had been at this long enough to keep herself centered, but the worry and fury was lined all over her face. So he clapped a hand on his daughter's shoulder and gave her the confident smirk he knew she had inherited.

"Let's go get him, shall we?" He said, grinning.

Sure enough, she returned the smile - a determined glint in her eyes. "Absolutely, dad. Let's get dangerous..."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In which the battle continues, and nearly ends... but there's always a little more danger to be had.

Juggling this was tricky, but ultimately fun. There's a lot of references here both to villains from the original show (like Dr. Fossil and Major Synapse) to villains of NADWD (like the Davidson Gang and the new FOWL), and everything converges all at once.

Also, word to the wise. Don't mess with diabolical superweapons constructed by mad scientists. It never ends well. Heck, the guy the project Julia finds is named after (Major Synapse) had his _head explode_ \- that'll be your Duck Reference of the Day.

In any case, the party's over. But the **Afterparty** is just beginning, and it will have consequences none of the Mallard clan are prepared for. Next time, when Thieves' Paradise concludes!


	9. Thieves Paradise: The Afterparty

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **Thieves' Paradise: The Afterparty**

* * *

 _Meanwhile, Standard Preen Inc,  
_

As the others went through the all the dangers and excitements that only an illegal underground auction can bring, Honker – unmasked, shackled, but not undone – found himself with a lot of time to take stock of his surroundings, and perhaps even think of a plan or two.

He quickly surmised that his Negaverse double was both lying and telling the truth about the explosives under his chair. He _was_ wired - even just from faintly feeling around with what little freedom he had, he could make out the shape of something sinister beneath him – and it was enough that one wrong move could promptly remove him from existence. But on the other hand, there didn't seem to actually enough to endanger the whole building as the doppleganger claimed, or even moderately imperil someone just outside the room he was in. There would need to be a lot more attached to this chair for that to be the case.

NegaHonker had almost certainly lied to keep him from messing around too much with his restraints: a clever move, even if Honker was too smart for it to work on him for long. Now that he knew it was just _him_ in jeopardy, Honker felt a lot more comfortable thinking at least about tinkering with the bomb. He was reasonably confident that if he could slip _just_ right through the bonds – admittedly, something Darkwing and Crimson were better at than himself – he could probably handle a bomb this size.

But there was still a risk, if only to himself. And with the dangers inherent in NegaHonker's trap going off without him there to warn anyone, he had to conclude that it wasn't worth it despite his confidence. He _had_ to be there.

Not to mention if he messed up and ended up a crater, Gosalyn would kill him. So instead he waited. At most, he fiddled around with his bonds – it took a while, but he had time. Not enough to break free, since he wasn't planning on going anywhere, but enough that he _could_ if he needed to. And he had the distinct impression he was going to need to.

After that, it wasn't long before his "host" returned. And he looked terrible. To be honest, Honker was more concerned about his suit – which was all dinged up, to his irritation – but the constant wincing and slight limp in NegaHonker's step did bring a smile to his face.

"Let me guess," he said before his double could say anything. "You tried to pull a fast one on Gosalyn? _My_ Gosalyn, that is." As there was no one around who didn't know the secrets already, he went for a tone that was as casual as he could knowing that would rile NegaHonker up further. "Not surprised." NegaHonker shot him a look, and Honker grinned wider. "What, you thought you would actually beat her? She's tougher than _anyone._ Especially you."

NegaHonker tensed, but chose with visible anger to change the subject. "Since you're not a smear on the walls, I suppose we didn't have any complications."

"How clever of you," Honker said wryly.

"Good." NegaHonker gripped the Techno visor and tossed it into the corner, followed swiftly by the rest of the uniform. This gave Honker a satisfying view of a few bruises that formed since his fight with Gosalyn, but he didn't seem to care. "Nice to finally get out of that wimpy so-called armor. You might need a crutch like that, but I don't."

"The welt on your face begs to differ," Honker shot back. His barbs weren't usually this jagged, but then this was a trying situation. "You should probably get some ice on that."

NegaHonker didn't tense that time. He did, however, walk over to Honker's chair and take a stand directly in front of him. The two stared each other down for a long moment. Then without warning, NegaHonker backhanded Honker hard in the face. Honker jerked in the chair, shuddering from the sudden pain but trying his best not to react so much he set off the explosives.

NegaHonker took a moment to bask in the recoil, then grabbed Honker's collar and leaned in close. He sneered as he spotted his good counterpart earning a bruise of his own.

"Unlike some people, I know how to take a punch." He said. "What you failed to notice, _smart guy_ , is that while I may have lost a fight, I still got exactly what I wanted." He waited for Honker's eyes to widen in realization before continuing. "After that display, your friends had to have called up _my_ Gosalyn. And unless their reputation as detectives is just bunk, they'll definitely track us here."

He pushed Honker backwards, into his chair, relying without even looking on his double's frantic balance corrections to keep them both from being blown up. He strode over to the covered Tron Manipulator, and started making last minute adjustments. "All I have to do is make sure we're ready for when they arrive. Which shouldn't take long."

Honker's cheek was already swelling: he felt like a baseball had been shoved into his mouth. He spit roughly onto the ground, glaring ruefully at his doppleganger. "You had better hurry then. They're even better than you think. And believe me Gosalyn is going to be _pissed_ when she gets here. I'd start making out an evil will if I were you."

NegaHonker looked up and matched eyes with him, just for a second. "I'm shaking, really. We'll just see about that." He turned away with a laugh, and somehow the sound of him working filled Honker with an odd sense of dread…

* * *

 _Back At Canard Tower,_

SHUSH agents and SCPD officers were still crawling the scene of the Auction when Director Navis arrived onto the scene in person. Her subordinates tried not to stare as her car rolled by: while it wasn't _unheard of_ in Hooter's day, it was typically the director's job to sit back at headquarters and let chief agents handle such situations. But as the first official fiasco of her tenure – or at least, the first with a satisfactory of SHUSH handle and control – she intended to see it out.

The paperwork on this would be an agony. And for that, at the very least, she deserved to be here.

As she walked up the site, a face she had quickly found she could count on headed her off and marched to her side. Agent Mia was on scene during the initial incident, albeit stationed outside, and had personally led the raid after Darkwing had given the call to move in. She was currently spearheading the clean-up action and the cooperation with local law enforcement – expertly no less, without needing to be ordered.

But when the director approached she seemed a bit off her confidence, if only visible for an instant. Knowing her to be as close to Darkwing's group as she was, Navis could understand why she was nervous. Their issues were no longer much of a secret inside the organization.

And of course, knowing what Navis' initial take on the current situation had been, and following the series of likely harrowing status updates since then, Mia could understand why Navis would be a little tense – especially given the nature of how Darkwing's involvement ended.

So when Navis simply said "status report?" by way of greeting, Mia was ready with a response.

"We've made dozens of arrests so far, and recovered nearly all the outstanding assets." She said proudly. "Minus the ones that were destroyed in the fight, of course. All in all, a success I'd say."

She smiled tentatively, but Navis made no visible reaction, so Mia wasn't sure she agreed with her assessment. "What's the status on our active vital APBs?" She replied.

"Well… as Darkw-" Mia stopped herself, seeing the look in Navis' face. "That is, as our intel predicted, once Steelbeak, Dr. Fossil and his remaning entourage started on his escape he proved too elusive for our agents to catch up."

Again, Navis did nothing but wave for Mia to continue. "And the Pirates?"

Mia grimaced. "Even _less_ of a trail." She said. "At least we're pretty sure which way Steelbeak went. The coastguard reported an unlicensed airship leaving city limits a half hour ago, so it's safe to say Pete and the Air Pirates are long gone."

"Any other outstanding issues?"

"A few major players from the other criminal organizations escaped, but the bulk of them are in our custody." She went on, trying to play up the better parts. "I'm sure you know that an unknown element wearing 'Techno's' armor escaped from the scene, but with pursuit already close behind." At this she received another dour look, so she quickly moved on. "Witnesses note seeing _another_ unknown element, apparently the same who challenged Pete and kicked off the brawl in the first place, leaving the scene. He is not currently in custody either."

"And in your professional, _unbiased_ opinion, had Darkwing and his company remained on site, would any of those rogue elements still have resulted in escapes?"

Mia sighed. She had been expecting a question like this. "That's… an odd question to answer, Director. If you don't mind me saying so, Darkwing was _right._ "She knew Navis wouldn't like hearing that so bluntly, but it was her report and she planned to give it truthfully. "Steelbeak knows this city. He has for years. Once he had his escape route set, he was always going to be too slippery to track down. And having set this all up, the pirates probably had a hole in our net planned from the beginning – not to mention all the experience Pete's got. The fiasco then just made the perfect cover for them and all the others." She continued forcefully, hoping her boss would get the point and not react badly. "Darkwing being here _could_ have helped us catch one of them, but I doubt all of them, or even _any_ of them. It was just too chaotic a situation."

She stood firm as she finished her wrap up, expecting a terse word for her blunt disagreement, but none ever came. In fact, Navis didn't respond at all. It took Mia a moment to realize that she wasn't trying to piece together something to say. That, apparently, was to be their last word on the subject – at least for today.

Instead, Navis had taken to jotting down the most important information on a personal notepad, and seemed to be tuning out Mia and the rest of the scene entirely. An admirable dedication, but despite this, there was another subject that needed to be broached.

While Mia was sure she would get orders about it eventually, she felt certain that it was something which ought to be addressed as soon as possible.

"Er… ma'am?" She ventured. Navis didn't look up, a sure sign she was still stressed, but she did stop notetaking. "I've taken a look over some of the captured assets, especially the FOUL ones. The pirates even got their hands on some stuff from the old FOWL days. Mind control? Ancient elixirs? _Duckthluhu?_ " She shuddered. "It's like a madhouse over there. What are we going to do with it all?"

Despite her agent's obvious unease, the director yet again barely emoted at all. "Catalogue it all. Preferably with as little detail as possible. Then burn it."

Mia jumped in surprise. "M-ma'am?!"

Navis raised an eyebrow. "I don't trust Steelbeak to be stupid enough not to get as much intel as he could during the fight, don't you? Not to mention the pirates having their greedy hands all over everything, so we can only assume _our_ old files are compromised and thus useless." She spoke sharply, but resolutely. Mia didn't like the reality of it, but she kept rapt attention. "And I'll be plucked before I let any of FOUL _or_ FOWL's old laundry ever see the light of day again."

With a final, unreadable sniff, she turned away and began walking away. "So scrap it all, and finish up here." She called over her shoulder. "That will be all, Agent Gingivere. And might I add, a fine job."

Mia watched her return to her ride and drive off, feeling a little stunned, though with a surge of respect for her new boss Without delay, she called the surrounding agents over and got to work organizing the agents still on site and ensuring her standing orders would be carried out: she may have missed Hooter, but this was still the kind of decisiveness she could get behind.

If only her caped friends and the new establishment could hit it off better, she would be absolutely certain this arrangement would work out just fine. Still, the other bitter reality of it was that they _weren't_ hitting it off, and this quagmire may not have been a great help.

"Oh, Darkwing... Launchpad…" she sighed to herself. "Whatever you're doing, I hope it's worth making things even _more_ prickly on this end…"

* * *

 _At The Trap, Ready for the Proverbial Mice…_

Honker was right. Darkwing and Crimson swooped onto the scene at Standard Preen very soon after starting to tail NegaHonker – and it didn't take much of a scan to find their exact location, what with Crimson already being aware of where they were.

Launchpad – in the Thunderquack – and the Avenger were parked on standby on the roof, ready to be called into action at a moment's notice. But until then, for the moment this confrontation needed precision: which meant it was entirely a father/daughter operation.

NegaHonker was waiting for them as they crashed through the window: unsurprising, given that he knew they were chasing him. He stood towards the back of the room, and it looked like he had been simply standing there staring at the glass just waiting for the inevitable moment.

Right away, Darkwing went into the dramatic declarations, even without using his trademark blue smoke. _"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I-"_

But NegaHonker wasn't interested in hearing the rest. "-am the science experiment that always blows up, or something. Whatever." He gave Darkwing a challenging look, showing teeth. "I'll have you know Negaduck's entrances are a lot better."

"W-what?! How dare you! My entrances are the crème of the heroic crop!"

Crimson might have jumped to her father's defense – even when making jokes herself, she always found their heroic entrances to be very cool (as well she should, given that she had one of her own) – but her focus was fixed on the duck strapped to the chair between them and NegaHonker.

"Honker…" she sighed, in something that would've been almost like relief were things not so tense. Honker nodded to let her know he was all right, but "all right" was a variable state in this situation: not only was he bound and wired to something unstable and dangerous, but he was now gagged as well: NegaHonker having gotten tired of his "banter" while waiting for the fight.

Crimson took this all in with growing fury, something she was usually able to hide within her usual spirit and determination. But when she drifted to the bruise on Honker's cheek, she had to quickly restrain herself before she did something she might regret. Acting too soon could jeopardize Honker's safety.

Unfortunately NegaHonker noticed her restrained emotions, and was all the more amused for it.

"Oooh, is Little Miss Darkwing Jr upset?" He cooed, speaking brashly for someone who had just taken a beating not long before.

Crimson made to lunge at him, but stopped when he pulled two things behind his back. In the one hand was a large remote that she knew almost certainly controlled the explosives under Honker's chair. In the other was a gigantic, custom made revolver, looking like something out of an exaggeratedly hardboiled western. The barrel was embossed with the word MOTHERHONKER along the sides and almost comically enlarged, with some kind of unknown but clearly abnormal and possibly explosive ammo already jutting haphazardly from the front. It sparked occasionally, though that seemed more a consequence of the constant red glow emitting from inside the firing mechanism.

"Back off!" NegaHonker said, smiling wickedly. "This is one of Negaduck's old babies!" He waved the revolver around as careless as could be, making Darkwing and Crimson duck out of the way. Honker – who had no such luxury – settled for sweating bullets. "That means it'll probably take _you_ out, your friend on the roof, half the building and a huge chuck of the block outside in one shot. And since I'd rather not lose the nearest Hamburger Hippo, I hope you take my advice."

"Burger fan, huh?" Darkwing asked, mostly for the sake of keeping the banter going. His tone was far from friendly.

"It's the only halfway decent thing about this universe."

Crimson stepped forward tentatively, ruefully eyeing not the gun, but the remote. "I say you're bluffing."

"Exaggerating, maybe. Always was bad at logistics. I prefer field testing." He said, twirling the hand cannon around without a single care for safety. "Don't get me _started_ on the paperwork that comes with being a merc. They really ought to tell you about the red tape in the movies."

"Tell me about it." Darkwing said, rolling his eyes in a still-casual way while he slowly maneuvered around opposite site of Gosalyn. "But pointless yet witty dialogue aside, it doesn't change the fact that you're outnumbered, and all you've got is one big gun."

"One _ludicrously_ big gun, thanks."

"Still not seeing the difference." Crimson said, drawing NegaHonker's attention back her way.

NegaHonker sneered. "Repeated for emphasis: you. Your friends. Half the building. A huge chunk of the block outside…"

"You'd really do that much damage kill little old _us_?" Darkwing said in disbelief. "That doesn't strike you as overkill, maybe? You could be killed too!"

"You guys are _really_ underestimating how much I hate you." NegaHonker's eyes darted between them, with that grin still playing on his face. "And don't think I don't know what you're doing!" He raised the ludicrously big revolver at Darkwing, and the remote at Crimson. They both jumped back, ready for action.

"You want to play, _let's play!"_

The positive version of Honker, meanwhile, got to work chewing the inside of the gag as best he could without anybody noticing. He needed to get his voice back, and pronto! When he really looked at his double's plan, it was actually a bit genius. This was all a ploy. Supposedly being stuck in this standoff, all the threats and banter, maybe even the gun itself: it was all a fake.

He was making himself look like a rat backed into a corner. They all already thought of NegaHonker as a violent brute. It wasn't hard to believe he would go down like a rabid beast: biting and scratching but simple and uncomplicated. If all he did was wave a ludicrously big gun around, they would never expect the true ambush.

Only Honker knew better. They were going to be completely blindsided! And if NegaHonker succeeded in pulling off what he was planning, the odds would quickly become a lot more even.

Darkwing and Crimson slowly inched forward as much as they could, both forced to keep their distance for now. "Let's take stock, shall we?" NegaHonker said gleefully, looking between them. "One hand blows you to dust…"

He glanced at Darkwing and wiggled the revolver. "… and the other blows your wimp boy toy to smithereens." He looked at Crimson and pretended to fiddle with the remote's button, taking satisfaction from the ugly look on her face. Both got the message, and took a step back. "Two meddling do-gooders. Two solutions. Didn't think this through, did you?"

"They thought it through just fine!"

NegaHonker turned to the front as a red and black blur swung across the building and crashed through one of the remaining unbroken windows. NegaCrimson flipped through the air and rolled across the floor in a perfect action heroine entrance. She came to a stop in the middle of the room and took aimed with her P90, right at NegaHonker's bewildered face.

"They just needed a third wheel!" She said, earning some unwanted applause from her counterpart for the perfect one-liner.

The air in the room changed immediately. NegaHonker's smug taunts had given way to a seemingly debilitating shock. He looked between all three ducks, rapidly switching his aim from one to another and babbling in bewilderment. And where those heroic ducks were tense before, now they were a lot more confident about their chances of taking care of this without anyone getting hurt.

Unfortunately, they were so focused on the standoff that nobody paid attention to Honker trying double hard to rip his gag off and/or frantically to get the others' attention with his eyes.

Defeated though he may be acting, NegaCrimson showing up was _exactly_ what NegaHonker wanted all along, And if Honker didn't do something soon…

"Looks like it's you who didn't think this through, Honker." NegaCrimson said, oblivious, before catching herself. "My Honker, that is. Give yourself up, now. Unless you seriously think you can win against all three of us."

"Nah. The jails back at the Negaverse have gotten so boring ever since you got in charge. I think I'll make a fight of it."

"You and what army, Negaduck Jr?"

"Negaduck Jr? As if I'm not the one our glorious boss groomed into the perfect successor." He yelled at NegaCrimson. His true fury showed on his face, unwilling to be hid. "Or if not successor, then maybe 'attack dog' has a better ring to it." He laughed bitterly in her face. "You're no better than me."

NegaCrimson was about to respond – letting her weapon do the talking – when Crimson joined in. "No, she's _better_." She brazenly stepped forward, no longer caring about NegaHonker's weapons, and was proven right when he failed to fire on her. "She may have been that way once, but she isn't now. She has what you and Negaduck never allowed yourselves to understand. Friends. Family. _Real_ allies. If you think you've got some kind of high ground over her, think again. She'll never be like you, no matter how much you wish she was!"

It was a stirring defense, and by the time Crimson was finished NegaCrimson was extremely touched. Or at least as much as she would allow herself to be in a dangerous situation like this.

Darkwing looked over each of the Crimson Avengers in front of him, very proud of both. "Yep yep yep, there you have it," he added, on his own part. "Looks like, just like your boss in the end, you'll all alone NegaHonker."

It was the kind of heartwarming moment that would've made his boss retch, but none of them noticed that NegaHonker did not.

Instead, he looked instead like he had just heard the _perfect_ cue.

Realizing what was about to happen, Honker wheezed out a muffled warning, one thatat last got someone's attention. Crimson glanced at him, a little confused, but caught the anxious look in his eyes. He darted his eyes to the tarp, and with the others distracted she took a glance at it as well, eyes widening in suspicion…

At the same time, the look of bewildered desperation instantly dropped from NegaHonker's face. "Alone? Me? Funny you should say that…" he giggled, as he pressed a second, more easily overlooked button on the remote.

NegaHonker's ace in the hole powered on, too quietly for anyone to hear. It took aim, unseen and covered in the corner of the room – only Crimson spotted _something_ wriggling around under the covers, but even she was unaware of the danger.

At the same time, Honker had finally bitten through the gag. He ripped through the fabric and coughed the stuffing out – a little suffocation was a small price to pay now – then forced himself to breath so he could shout at the top of his lungs:

"NEGAGOS! GET DOWN!" He shouted, not bothering with the extra time and syllables it would take to say "NegaCrimson" or "NegaGosalyn." "IT'S A TRAP!" He then devolved into a horrible coughing fit, but the message was sent.

Unfortunately, it was received too late. Time seemed to slow down as the tarp burst off of the tron manipulator, which aimed straight through the midst of heroes. They recoiled, not fully realizing what was going on but acting on instinct, yet there was not enough time to get completely out of the way. The manipulator was charged and ready, and it had but one target in mind: once NegaGosalyn in its sights, it stalled for only a split second before firing with ruthless precision.

NegaGosalyn's jaw dropped as she realized that the blast was coming for her, and only her. She stared down the barrel of the manipulator, and realized in an instant what it was. Horrified, she saw for a moment her recent decisions pass before her: she really should have told the Friendly Four what she was doing after all, and she should _never_ have should she have ever lied to her doppleganger about it.

Now it would never apologize to them _._ She would be nothing but a threat to this world and her own _again._

 _Typical,_ she thought – one last burst of self-blame before the end…

Then, at the _very_ last second, she was pushed out of the way. She saw Crimson beside her, shouting "NO!" Then before she knew it, NegaGosalyn was on the floor and Crimson standing frantically where she had been a moment before.

An instant after that, a bright red light blinded everyone in the room.

Her eyesight blinked back to normal in just a few seconds. And when it did, there were no hideous thoughts waltzing through her psyche – something she was beyond thankful for. If that machine was what she feared it was, then that could have gone a lot worse. In fact…

Her breath hitched, as she realized. She stared up at the duck who had just saved her, a terrible feeling taking root. There was no time to waste in letting the other know as well.

"She got hit!" She screamed, pointing up at her double.

Everyone looked at Crimson, who patted herself down in evident confusion. "I… what? No, I don't think…"

"Did she?" NegaGosalyn said quickly, turning to Honker – who was the only person with a clear view of everything. "Is… _is she-"_

The answer was obvious before he said anything, from the way Honker was frozen to his seat, eyes wide and fearful. "Y-yes." He breathed out. "I think she was."

It was as if the air was momentarily sucked out of the room. The others were now all staring at Crimson with increasingly horrorstruck eyes. All except NegaHonker, who was growing a decidedly smug – if somewhat disappointed – grin.

Darkwing looked between Honker and the unveiled machine. At first, he had feared it was some kind of death laser. Now he was almost hoping it was. "Techno!" He said evenly, his heart hitting his stomach. "Was that… tell me that wasn't…"

"The tron manipulator. He was…" Honker's voice cracked, betraying how little he wanted to even think about the full implications, let alone say them. "He was trying to turn NegaGosalyn evil."

" _What?"_ Crimson herself shrugged it off. She gave the others the same confident, heroic smile on her face as always, the one that always reassured them. "No way, guys. It can't have worked. I don't feel any diff-"

 _ **WHAM!**_

Crimson suddenly rocked back as NegaGosalyn's fist collided with her beak. She fell straight to the ground and stayed there, still.

"NegaGosalyn!" Darkwing gasped. "You can't just-"

"Better safe than sorry." NegaGosalyn replied curtly, but she too was visibly shaken by what she had just done. "We can fix her later. For now…" She took a step towards NegaHonker, and just from the look in her eyes it was clear how much more fury she had to spare than before. Darkwing, who begrudgingly had to agree with her logic, even though he was far from happy about it, took up her rear.

NegaHonker blanched. This had not gone according to his plan at all: if he had struck NegaGosalyn as intended, neither Darkwing or Crimson would have been as… proactive… as NegaGosalyn herself, at least not so quickly. Now he found himself immediately outnumbered. Though to his credit, he stood his ground in spite of that. Perhaps because he was still not outgunned. "You think I'm scared? All I have to do is wait 'til the blaster recharges, then I'll have you just like I wanted!"

"Don't be a ninny." Darkwing scoffed. "You really think you'll get the chance?"

NegaHonker shrugged. "Probably not. But that's what _he's_ for!" He raised the remote again, this time pointing to Honker – who was still bound and far more miserable than before. He tapped a button and a high-pitched whine started emitting from the explosives. "It's a two step process." He explained, hovering his finger over a second button. "So let's all calm down like good little hostages, before the so-called genius ends up in tiny chunks."

"You're standing right there! You'll be blown up too!"

"One little old bomb is a lazy Friday night in the Negaverse." He laughed, though with bravado or a bit of sadistic glee none could tell. "I survived a half dozen explosions by the time I was twelve! _I'll_ be fine." He roughly grabbed Honker's head and craned it forward. "But will _he?"_

The whining of the bomb was distracting, but no less so than their own imaginations. As they looked from one Muddlefoot to the other, Honker could see the concern and unease grow stronger on Darkwing and NegaCrimson's faces. He was smart. He knew that in the end they were probably going to fall back to protect him, just as the double hoped. And that couldn't happen. They couldn't be wasting time thinking about him, not when his Crimson – his _Gosalyn -_ was in such an unthinkable state. He had to take action.

So he finally slipped his hands free of his undone bonds, regretting that he hadn't done so sooner. In an impressive bit of precision given that he couldn't see his target, snapped his arms out and reached behind him. As he hoped, his double was too surprised to act in time, and Honker took advantage of this momentary reaction by snatching the remote straight out of NegaHonker's hands and quickly throwing it into a far corner.

Then before NegaHonker could either make for it again or raise his revolver, Honker snatched his double's other arm and yanked him into a shoulder check. The chair jostled, and NegaHonker's swagger vanished as he realized the bomb was now _much_ closer to going of with him on top of it.

He lost his composure and tried to twist out of the way, but that was again just as Honker hoped: Honker pulled in the opposite direction at _just_ the right time, and so instead of escaping the grip NegaHonker was flipped awkwardly overhead and landed roughly on the floor in front of him.

Honker almost laughed: for all that tough bragging and violent showboating, it seemed NegaHonker was just as prone to over-caution as himself. But he wouldn't fall for that again. Nor did Honker think the odds were good for him doing something like that again, especially not from a chair. This needed to end.

"Cuff him and get the remote!" He shouted. Darkwing and NegaGosalyn, who had been stalled admiring his move, jumped into action: Darkwing went to subdue NegaHonker, ignoring the double's furious threats and curses, while NegaGosalyn ran to search for the control to the manipulator where it fell.

Neither got the chance to finish what they started. Before they could get to their goals, a thick red smoke began to fill the room, out of nowhere. They flinched away from it, but there was only so much space for it to go, and soon the entire room was invisible behind one huge, crimson cloud.

There was a loud bump as Darkwing bumped into something, apparently NegaHonker given their shared shouts of pain, but that was the least of their worries. For then, above the sound of the venting smoke, a familiar voice rang out - though something about it was very wrong...

"I am the heir to the cape! But… I don't feel much like it tonight." They heard a chuckle through the haze – the kind that was usually heard in good fun, like when its owner was enjoying a horror movie or some consequence free risk. Yet now there was an edge to it now that gave them chills.

"Gosalyn! Oh, no…" Honker whispered.

Darkwing's denial was more emotional. "No. _NO!"_

"Keen gear, I should've realized you guys were too smart to fall the old 'I'm fine' schtick." Crimson's voice came again, now terribly casual. "Not after dad tried it when _he_ got flipped."

"And _I_ should've known you were faking!" NegaGosalyn snarled. She twisted back and forth in an effort to make out a face through the smoke, but no such luck. "Since when do you go down with one punch?"

The same familiar – yet unfamiliar – chuckle again. "Not today, obviously."

Honker felt movement in front of him, and realized that NegaHonker was taking the opportunity. He shouted out a warning, but a pained grunt for Darkwing told him that it was no use.

"You took your sweet time helping me!" Groaned the voice of his double, now much nearer to where Crimson's voice had come from. When Crimson didn't immediately say anything in her own newly evil defense, he became more insistent. "Hey, are you listening?"

"I suppose I did." She said vaguely, after a long moment. It sounded like she was thinking things over. "But then, what's the fun in being predictable… right?"

There was a sharp groan in the cloud, followed a loud mechanical shredding. Then the sound of venting gas ceased - Crimson's bomb had run out of juise. With no source, the smoke quickly filtered out of the room through the holes in the windows. When it cleared Crimson was on the edge of the glass, NegaHonker by her side in a painful looking chokehold and something large and metallic sticking from her coat.

She flashed a grin at the others, completely ignoring the protests coming from her elbow.

"Hey! Easy on the merchandise!"

"Out you go, loser!" She shot, just before tossing NegaHonker through the hole. She watched as he went down, chuckling to herself, then turned to the others. "Oh, that was _way_ too satisfying. See ya!"

She tipped backwards herself, just slowly enough for everyone to react, but too slowly for them to be able to do anything about it. _Just_ before she might have fallen, the Avenger also fell past the window – having been called remotely – and without missing the cue Crimson leapt all the way through the window as it passed by. She flipped in the air and grabbed the plummeting motorcycle by the handlebar, firing her grappling gun straight down at the same time.

NegaHonker, meanwhile, was in the midst of free fall shock by that point. But he still felt it when the grapple stuck true to the seat of his pants. Once it attached, Crimson yanked the cable sideways as hard as possible – yet more pain – and swung her target around the bike before hanging it again – this time towards her.

The result was a perfect arc that ended with NegaHonker "safely " draped over the seat of the bike, looking windswept and disbelieving, and Crimson sitting comfortably at the wheel with a manic look upon her face.

"THAT WAS _AWESOME!"_ Her shout could be heard from several blocks over. NegaHonker only whimpered unintelligibly, too quietly for anyone but the two of them to hear.

No one still in the lab was in the mood to care about how impressive the maneuver was – even if it _was_ genuinely amazing. NegaGosalyn bolted to the window, training her eyes on Crimson's path in order to pinpoint where she was headed. Darkwing, with more presence of mind than one would expect given the situation, scrambled over to Honker's chair, gave the bomb under the seat a once over, then quickly used his buzzsaw cufflings to sever a few errant wires. The high pitched whine – which had been going on so long that Honker himself had forgotten about it – dissipated. He was bomb free, if still bound by his legs.

This was enough for Darkwing, who abandoned the rest of Honker's rescue and joined NegaGosalyn at the window, gripping his communicator needlessly tight and shouting for Launchpad to get the Thunderquack ready.

Honker couldn't – and wouldn't ever - blame them. If he didn't have a seat strapped to his ankles, he would be right there with them.

"We have to stop her _now!_ I'm going!" Darkwing hissed. Without waiting for a response, he jumped out the window and grappled to the ceiling, where Launchpad was waiting.

NegaGosalyn had parked her own transportation elsewhere, and moved to do the same. "Right behind you!" She shouted after Darkwing.

Meanwhile, Honker struggled to undo his leg bonds. He must have made a noise in his own zeal to get free, because she stopped and turned to him just before leaving.

"I'll be fine!" He shouted, guessing what was going through her mind. "Go _now_ , before we lose her!"

NegaGosalyn didn't need to be told twice. She was gone before he even looked back down, something he was very glad for. His Gosalyn probably would not have left before making sure he was okay. But he didn't need help right now. She did.

He looked over to the tron manipulator, and saw to his dismay that a large chunk of it was missing: that must have been what Crimson stuffed into her coat before escaping. All the more reason to get in the fray as fast as possible.

He quickly went to work sifting through the knots that kept him in place – Alexgander the Great would have to eat his heart out by the time he was done - and eyed the one piece of tech that he hoped _wouldn't_ fail him: his uniform, where NegaHonker had tossed it earlier. Even kidnapped and tied up he was still Crimson's sidekick, and so much more. He would stop at nothing to be there when she needed him.

Though, he realized with a frown, it might take him a little while to _get_ there…

* * *

 _On The Streets of Duckburg,_

High above the streets, the Thunderquack soared overhead. Darkwing and Launchpad scanned the cityscape below, looking for any sign of Crimson and her vile passenger.

Finding her was the easy part. They lost her here and there, but it wasn't hard to pick up on a suped up motorcycle rocketing down a peaceful burg like this one. The hard part was getting to her. Crimson was keeping to the side streets, which were too small for the Thunderquack - probably for that very reason. They couldn't drop down to catch her themselves, but didn't want to lose the advantage to having the birds' eye view. They were stuck watching, for now.

Down on the ground, NegaGosalyn had the opposite problem. Her bike could match her double's turn for hairpin turn, but she already had too much of a headstart: she couldn't see her, except for the barest glimpses in the distance.

" _This is useless."_ She shouted into her communicator. _"Where's she going?!"_

"There!" Launchpad shouted, pointing to a blur zig sagging through the streets. It had taken a while to get him up to speed, but only because like the others he barely wanted to believe it. Now he felt more focused than he had ever been. "She's heading for the bridge back to St. Canard!"

" _That doesn't help if I can't catch up!"_

Launchpad thought for a second, then pointed again – even though she obviously couldn't see from where she was. "There! I mean, take the next left! It's a little rocky, but there's a shortcut that should put you right where she's going to be!" Darkwing stared at him, and he puffed his chest out proudly. "Lucky you guys don't know this city as well as I do."

There was a crash on the other side of the radio. _"Ow! A_ _ **little**_ _rocky?"_

Launchpad winced. "It's not so clean, but it'll get you there!" He said sheepishly, not feeling quite so focused any more. "Maybe I didn't take the _safest_ crash courses through here…"

NegaGosalyn groaned, but Darkwing just shrugged it off – in fact, he allowed himself a relieved grin. A little coarse or not, it was finally a break! "NegaGos!" He turned back to the radio. "Try and distract her when you hit Audubon Bay. There's enough open space on the bridge that we should be able to fly in and take her down!"

" _Sounds like a plan!"_ She responded, and they watched as she zipped through the broken alleys and chipped rooftops – Launchpad had clearly crashed something huge through there once upon a time – and veered close to the bridge just as Crimson was darting past. They were in the running now!

"Excellent! Launchpad!" He yelled, dramatically. "Let's get dangerous! Ready the Containment Protocol!"

"You mean the big net?"

" _Yes,_ the big net! Go go go!" He shouted. "We've got her now!"

"I'm not so sure, DW." Launchpad said slowly, staring blankly at the Thunderquck's computer screen. "This system you and Techno put together is acting… funny."

Darkwing looked at the screen himself, and jumped. "No!" He shrieked, looking closer at the display. "Gosalyn's remotely locking down the tower from the Avenger!"

" _She can do that?"_

"Of course!" He retorted, a bit defensively. "It's a safety measure!"

There was an uncomfortable and rather judgmental silence.

"Yes, I _am_ aware of the irony, thanks."

" _Okay, fine."_ NegaGosalyn groaned. _"What's she doing?"_

Darkwing was furiously fiddling with the Thunderquack's panels, trying to counter of the situation. "She can't do much else from afar," he said gruffly. "But a total lockdown runs the risk of wiping out my perfectly organized filing system if the system thinks its in critical danger! Not to mention the Thunderquack would stop syncing with the tower."

"Gee, it'll be like that weekend at the hoarder's convention all over again!" Launchpad said.

Darkwing slammed his head against the dashboard, which coincidentally had the effect of erasing one of screen's stubborn error messages. "Don't remind me."

NegaGosalyn had no idea what either of them were talking about, and wisely chose not to ask. _"So how do we stop her?"_

"Each request for lockdown by one of us gets run by the others, so we can just deny it from here." NegaGosalyn was about to snap about making her worry, but he headed her off. "The problem is, she can just keep doing it. Over, and over, and over. And if we go through that enough times, the system will _definitely_ think its under attack and lock down anyway!"

" _I'd say that's paranoid and unhelpful, but I've seen some off Negaduck's security systems,"_ she said under her breath. It was true: accidentally setting of Negaduck's security (or having it set off on you, when he was bored), made for a nasty afternoon. Bushroot was lucky his fingers could grow back. _"Can you deny her access?"_

"Not from here." He admitted. "One of the things she made me agree to when she got her own bike was that I couldn't easily control it remotely. She said I had a habit of being overprotective."

"Big surprise there, DW."

"Not the time, Launchpad!"

" _Great. Family drama. So now what?"_

"Now?" Darkwing blinked, thinking. A poor idea occurred to him – but the only idea that would come to mind. "Now we have a really bad choice to make. I _can_ cut her out directly from the tower…"

"… _but then you'd have to leave!"_ NegaGosalyn finished for him, sighing _. "Clever."_

"Not a good situation, DW," Launchpad chimed in, though he still reluctantly made ready to break off from pursuit.

" _Hopefully I can make it better!"_ Came a new voice on the comms, as a blur rocketed past the Thunderquack.

"Techno!" Darkwing shouted, grinning. "Are we glad to see you!"

Ahead of them, Techno turned back and nodded, then trained his eyes on the horizon _. "No time to waste. I'll head back to the tower. You keep-"_

"No!" Darkwing replied. "Original plan: I go. You stay."

"… but you-"

"… are flying in the Thunderquack, which _only_ really had a chance to intercept her bike on the bridge." He interrupted sharply. "You're bringing the air advantage _and_ the agility advantage. It just makes more sense."

There was a long pause, as Techno seemed to be wrestling with himself. Darkwing understood: Honker was a lot more confident now than he was even a few years ago, but if there was ever a test of mettle…

But Techno was right, when he first arrived. There wasn't any time to waste, so Darkwing made the decision for him. He signaled for Launchpad to get moving. "I trust you, Honker." He said softly, knowing the unprofessional use of his real name would stick more. _"She_ trusts you too. So bring her back for me, kid."

" _Always, sir."_

As they broke away, he saw Techno nodding at him again through the window. He and Launchpad gave him a parting thumbs up, and then away they went.

The tower wasn't far, given that it was halfway across the very bridge Crimson and NegaGosalyn were currently vying over. Launchpad picked up the speed anyway – the longer they took, the more at risk the HQ's computers were – but still took a moment to do a single divebomb at the Avenger with the net: without time to coordinate, it was a long shot, but they had to try.

Sure enough, Crimson – who had been well versed in Launchpad's piloting since she was a child - avoided the sweep as easily as if she had already known it was coming. Unfortunately still, there wasn't time for another run.

Darkwing grumbled, but looked back with an extremely bad feeling that no amount of faith in his allies or frustration at his situation could let him ignore. It was horribly, terribly out of his hands, now…

* * *

 _On The Streets,_

NegaGosalyn was tailing the Avenger move for move now, and though they failed to catch her the swerve Crimson took to avoid Darkwing and Launchpad also shortened the distance between them a little bit.

On the other hand, it was hard to keep up speed without crashing into the cars of innocent bystanders – though she could at least feel lucky that it wasn't rush hour. Techno's jet trail was a welcome sight as they started across the bridge.

He alongside her, close enough that they could talk without radio. Under his breath, she could hear him muttering – _"Can't let her down. Won't let her down_ " – but when he came near he talked to her normally. "Lovely day for it, huh?" He said sardonically, over the wind..

"This has to end, now!" NegaGosalyn replied, with a single-minded ferocity that left him taken aback for a moment before remembering that this was not Gosalyn he was used of fighting alongside.

The thought soured him even more than he already was. "Yes." He said, matching her grim tone. "Yes it does. She gutted the tron manipulator before she left. If we don't catch her now…"

NegaGos shook her head. "We'd be back to square one either way. Head in the game, Techno."

She hated the nasty tone her voice was taking, but it was the only way she knew to keep her friends – and hopefully herself – focused. It seemed to work, as Techno started moving more deliberately across Crimson's trail. He started to rise, intending to corkscrew around the freeway, but then, as if knowing that they were thinking of her, their plansderailed as the radio suddenly came alive with Crimson's so-similar voice.

Techno was instantly by her side once more. Just like in the lab, Crimson was still putting on that casual and chipper tone. But again, something added an unsettling chill to it.

" _Woohoo! Keen gear, this is fun. Don't you guys think?"_

"Crimson?!" NegaGosalyn shouted. She looked ahead: her double grinned back at her, before turning back to the road ahead. She abruptly veered to the side, causing a driver coming the opposite way to panic. He swerved passing by, forcing NegaGos and Techno to scatter lest they crash.

Luckily, the driver was able to right himself before anything worse came of it, but it was a close call. They came back together a moment later, undaunted but still very rattled.

"She's still connected, we were just on channel," Techno quickly explained, before hopping into the conversation himself. "Crimson!" He said, desperately. _"Gos…_ you've got to stop this. You're not yourself!"

" _Seriously, Honk,"_ she went on as if he hadn't said a word. " _When's the last time we went on a joyride, just for kicks?"_

NegaGosalyn stared at the radio in confusion. "Is she serious?" She snapped. But Techno found himself thinking it over.

It _had_ been a while, he realized. Gosalyn had always been a reckless, impulsive person – her rash persistence was a large part of how she and Honker became such close friends in the first place. But as she got older, and _especially_ once she joined Darkwing as a hero in her own right, she got better at either controlling it or harnessing it in positive ways, so that the mayhem that ensued when she fully expressed herself was kept to a minimum (the occasional melted toaster aside)… or unleashed on the bad guys. He hadn't really thought much about how much more sensible Gosalyn could be now – it just kind of happened over time.

It stood to reason then that with her trons scrambled, that discipline would be the first to go…

"Listen to me, Gos-" he tried again, but he was cut off once more.

" _In fact, this is taking me back. Remember you and me rocketing across Audubon Bay atop heavy ordnance, just us vs a giant bull with an attitude problem? Wish I'd kept that old chair of Dad's now,"_ she mused, as if this were an afternoon picnic and not a hi-speed chase. NegaGosalyn looked utterly confused, but again this sent Techno into a rush of thought. He knew right away what she was referring to, how could he not – years past or no, he'd had the nightmares to make it stick – but why was she bringing it up now? _"Though I guess I have the wrong Honker with me this time. Maybe we could mix and match!"_

"Is inane babbling the usual result of getting one's trons manipulated?" NegaGosalyn said, no longer bothering to talk under her breath. Despite the insult, they only heard Crimson chuckling on the other end of the line. "Because…" she trailed off, leaving the dig unsaid.

"I don't know," Techno stammered. "I… _incoming!"_

Crimson had suddenly stopped the Avenger short completely, and was now speeding straight at them in reverse. Techno dashed upwards, and NegaGos was forced again to scatter to avoid a crash – along with half a dozen furious and terrified drivers behind them.

Ignoring the chaos she had created, Crimson continued backwards the way she came. Even without the radio, they could hear her cackling madly in the distance.

"What the-" Techno whispered to himself, though NegaGosalyn thought she had a handle on his state of mind regardless.

"She's trying to fake us out!" She hissed angrily, as Crimson effortlessly wove backwards through the outbound traffic. "She's going the other way, back to Duckburg!"

But Techno wasn't quite convinced. He peered over Crimson's movements, still thinking. Something was off: maybe it was how well he knew Gosalyn, maybe it was some kind of heroic intuition. Either way, something was nagging him about the fight Crimson mentioned.

Something NegaGosalyn had just said now, and something _he_ had said back then…

" _Couldn't we just go the other way..?"_

He remembered that moment well. And the answer at the time had been…

"No!" He shouted to NegaGosalyn, who was already turned around and rushing to intercept. "She's going to charge us! Look out!"

NegaGosalyn looked back in surprise, and when she turned back to Crimson she realized how right he was. Her double had changed direction again. What's more, she was kicking it into high gear: from a full stop, the Avenger had abruptly started rocketing straight towards them, with NegaHonker fully recovered in the back and his ludicrously large gun aimed to kill…

"Wuh oh! Look out!" She shouted, before everything literally went up in smoke.

NegaHonker actually had been exaggerating about his weapon after all, but not by much. His shot missed the two heroes, but sailed past and instead slammed directly into one of the Bridge's supports. The pillar was overcome by a blazing explosion, as screaming drivers swerved left and right to avoid the blast. Both Techno and NegaGosalyn stopped short, to survey the damage.

Thankfully no one appeared to be hurt, and the bridge was still standing – though they would be receiving a bewildered call from Darkwing any moment now – but when the smoke cleared there pillar sported a troublingly large and forboding crack.

Techno raced to the problem area right away. Luckily this was _exactly_ the kind of thing he tried to be prepared for – and Gosalyn said his cautious additions were a waste! Provided NegaHonker hadn't used up all his ordnances while joyriding in his armor earlier, he had more than enough adhesive shots to seal the crack. It would probably end up even _better_ than new!

But unfortunately, he made two gaping mistakes. In situations like this, he would often dip off and deal with the damage while Crimson ran interference. Even if they were ever to switch places, they had cues and maneuvers to clue each other in on what to do quickly and efficiently. And that made him react instinctively, with the gut assumption this would go as smoothly as any of those other times.

But he wasn't with Crimson right now. He had, in the heat of the moment, forgotten that the Gosalyn he was with was not the Gosalyn he had spent years alongside. And being used to acting as a lone wolf, NegaGosalyn had neither the instinctive connection that Techno and Crimson had built up nor the time to stop that knee-jerk feeling to take care of problems by herself.

So she too went straight for the pillar: her bike had a winch, which she intended to use to stabilize the supports. But with both of them focusing on the pillar, no one had had eyes on their enemies.

And so neither of them saw NegaHonker's second shot, until the back wheel of NegaGosalyn's bike exploded.

The remains of the bike went one way and she went flying the other - up into the air, past the pillar and out over the blue of Audubon Bay.

Techno broke off to grab her out of the air, and quickly deposited her on the walkway before she could fall too far – singed and disoriented, but largely unharmed. However, doing so left him understandably distracted, and so made his second mistake: as he remembered, Gosalyn had ribbed him from time to time about adding odds kinds of ammo like glue bombs to his arsenal.

But that meant Crimson knew all about them. And it hadn't yet sunk in what those sorts of revelations meant, now that Crimson was the enemy he had to fight…

Oblivious to this hole in his plan, he hovered back up to the fissure and readied the adhesive. But just as he was about to coat the pillar, something heavy slammed into his back: Crimson, who had grappled up above them both while they weren't looking.

She was waiting the whole time to drop, when the moment was right. And now that she had her chance, she latched tightly onto Techno's back and covered his eyes in a twisted game of peek-a-boo.

"Hey!" He squawked. "Get off!"

"Aww, and here I thought you liked getting close to me…" She cooed, faking disappointment. Before he could shake her off, she grabbed his arm and activated the glue bombs herself. The paste sprayed over the pillar, just as Techno intended, but she had more plans for it. "Hope we can still _stick together!"_

While the adhesive was still wet she kicked hard off of Techno's back. She sprung backwards, while he went flying directly into the muck and collided with a splat. He recoiled right away, trying to get free, but she wouldn't have that: while still in midair she grappled the pillar again and swung back around. She hit him square in his back, pinning him down further into the glue.

With her weight behind him, Techno could hardly move – all he could manage was to pull his head away, to prevent his beak from getting stuck too. He felt her climbing over him to avoid getting stuck herself, and she leaned behind his ears so he could clearly hear her gloating whispers..

"Tsk tsk. So much for not letting me down, Honk-man. And I made it so easy for you this time!" Techno stretched and pulled at the glue, but it was no use. His arms and legs wouldn't come free. Crimson didn't even act like he had a chance."Don't bother denying it. I know you were thinking it. You must feel like such a l _oser!"_

He wanted to grab her like he had NegaHonker earlier - even if he was trapped, if he could just trap her with him it would still work out. But she had gotten him too well, and they both knew it.

"N-no!" He groaned. He couldn't help the helpless tears falling down his face. It only got worse when her face leaned into his vision. The look of utter _delight_ at his misery, on the face of the person he cared about more than anything, was heartbreaking. "Gos… stop! Y-you don't want to do this…"

"Don't I?" She laughed. She patted his head like an adult patronizing a child, then suddenly gripped the back of his helmet and mashed the side of his face into the glue. "You'll learn, Romeo. 'Til then, stick around!"

With that parting shot, she left her boyfriend franctically trying to escape as she leapt back to her bike, where NegaHonker was waiting.

"That was easy." NegaHonker said smugly, looking up at his trapped double.

A smirk played on Crimson's beak. "Yes. This time," She said quietly, an excited tone on her breath.

NegaHonker's eyes widened. "What?"

"Never mind." She grunted. She gestured for him to scoot back. "Get on the seat."

He stared at her. She saw him fingering his revolver, and frowned. "You serious? Aren't we going to kill-"

"And bring Darkwing back here?" She snapped. Done with waiting, she shoved him away from the driver's seat. "Honestly - move it, goon!"

NegaHonker grumbled under his breath, but let her take the wheel. She kicked the Avenger into full acceleration and took off towards St. Canard – but as she shoved away, a sudden thump caused her ride to slow down.

She looked back and saw, to mixed of wicked glee and irritation, NegaGosalyn trailing from a grappling cable fired at her tail. The retraction of the cable was keeping her from being dragged behind, and she was coming fast.

"You haven't won yet!" She growled as a battle cry. She reached the bike, attempting to leap onto Crimson's back and make her crash. But she was intercepted by NegaHonker, who yanked her out of the air.

Crimson didn't even look back. "Leaving allies and innocent bystanders behind? Not very heroic of the Manchurian Mallard, is it?"

"Not at all." NegaHonker chuckled, even though he was having trouble getting her into the chokehold he wanted. "Course, that's cause she's on the wrong side."

But NegaGosalyn wouldn't be swayed. She elbowed her way out of NegaHonker's grip and made for Crimson again. "He'll understand. But _you're_ not getting away on my watch."

"Spoken like a true go-getter." Crimson replied. She suddenly veered the bike to the side, stopping NegaGosalyn's advance by sending her off balance. By the time she got stabilized, NegaHonker had recovered and was trying to grab her again.

Despite that, she lost none of her determination – something the two had in common. "Oh? Prove it." She shot back, pushing NegaHonker off once Crimson still didn't look back. She accelerated instead, but NegaGosalyn would _not_ lose her footing again.

So it was thanks repressed surprise that when Crimson said "I already have, duh!", NegaGosalyn didn't try to make her explain. She just lurched forward, trying to finish this now…

 _ **QLONGG!**_

… at which point she collided with a low hanging sign. A summer decoration, draped over the road, which ironically said " **COME HANG OUT IN ST. CANARD."**

And hang she did. So stunned by the impact, she hung onto the hanging like a vice. Her head felt like a split cantaloupe, but as she watched Crimson and NegaHonker fleet – cackling – into the night an anguished bellow escaped her throat regardless of the pain.

"Come back here! Come back! No!" She racked her head, trying to think of something, _anything,_ that could bring them back. "Cowards! Don't go! _Stop!_ "

But it was no use. There was no answer but for the laughter in the distance. They had escaped. They had failed.

She wanted to look back to Techno, and get him out of that trap. She wanted to call Darkwing and get his advice. But she couldn't bring herself to look at either of them. Crimson – Gosalyn – their daughter, their friend, their love, was gone. And gone because of _her_ at that _,_ and her allies.

And with her escape, the optimistic future NegaGosalyn had almost seen for all of them vanished with her, not to be seen again for a long time…

* * *

 _Underneath the Fearsome Dive_ , _The Day After,_

Julia awoke in a place that was horribly familiar. She immediately recognize it as the same bed in the same dank tunnels far underneath the Fearsome Dive that she had been forced to sleep in the night before.

Somehow, she had ended up in the care of the Fearsome Five. She didn't want to think about how – she barely wanted to think about what had happened the day before. At least, she thought it was the day before. All her mind was willing to let her piece together right now was that she had done something extremely stupid – on top of all the other things – and then a horrible, aching pain in her skull.

Then there was some kind of chat with Darkwing, and then... nothing. It would come to her when she was more awake, she knew. But somehow she didn't want it to.

There was activity outside her door. The Five had generously left her alone while she slept it off, it seemed, but they were less tactful about not being loud enough to wake the dead.

Then again, she could probably consider herself lucky: one quick look told her that the door was busted and would probably break clear off its hinges any day now. The last thing she wanted was to have no buffer between her and a madhouse of supervillains.

Though just from giving it a once over, she didn't think the door was such a problem. She could probably fix it up easy. She even thought she had a few ideas – albeit probably silly ones - on how to improve it… which was weird. She couldn't remember the last time she had done woodwork.

She shrugged it off. You never knew when your brain might wrap itself around a new hobby, especially when under a mountain of stress. Once she gave it a try, she would probably be awful at it. Not like her real job…

Her job!

It hit her all at once. She had to have missed Glomgold's deadline. What was she going to do? What was _he_ going to do? Would he really back up his threats? She had to get out of here and find out!

She burst out of the room and barged straight into what was an almost absurdly normal scene given the people she was keeping company with. Half the Five were plopped on counches, chairs or the floor, watching tv. Quackerjack was the oddball in the room, no surprises there, and was instead amusing himself by chasing around one of Bushroot's pets with a mechanical "puppy' of his own with razor sharp fangs.

Everyone besides Bushroot and Quackerjack turned lazily to her when she came in, a few of them giving her odd looks she didn't care to descipher right now.

"Ahoy, mate," Rowe said gruffly. "Been wondering when you'd get outta that bed."

"I..." She started and stopped, unable to decide on an appropriate tone. She eventually went with "frantic." "I'm grateful for your… er… hospitality, but I can't stay. I'll leave all your secrets out of my stories, I swear, if you'll just let me go-"

"Actually, mate, I don't think that's such a good idea…"

She gasped, and took a step back. "W-what?" Were they going to keep her here after all? Or… did they now plan to silence her completely?

Nobody elaborated, at least not with words. The odd looks were turning awkward now, but there were no answers – a bad situation for a reporter. Yet that feeling, like she didn't want to know after all, was still hanging onto her. She couldn't bring herself to make them talk, either.

The choice was out of her hands, however. While her cohorts were keeping the peace, Bianca Beakley – far in the corner - saw the chance to amuse herself. Laughing heartily, she hopped over to where the remote sat and turned it to the news, ramping up the volume in the process.

"Just you watch, darling," Beakley said, sickeningly sweet. Julia turned to the screen. She felt herself trembling. It was _Word on the Wing._

Ganderson was on the screen. He looked shaken and bitter, very much unlike him. No matter what it was, Clive always delivered the news in a steady manner. Something had to have been very wrong.

On the inset was an image of Canard Tower. A very cold feeling came over Julia's heart.

"… and in addition to the confirmed activities of the international crime ring known as the Air Pirates, sources indicate that the despite the best efforts of law enforcement and the masked vigilante Darkwing Duck, the situation at Canard Tower was exacerbated by the actions of several additional criminal elements. Including the infamous gang well known in this city as the Fearsome Five…"

The gang in question all roused in cheer. Julia flinched.

On the screen, Ganderson had a similar look on his face. He looked sharply to the side, and twitched as something unseen egged him on. "I…"

Whatever it was he had to say, it was making him falter for the first time in a long time. He looked away, and a muffled voice could be heard shouting "do it" from beyond the set.

"... as… as I was saying…" He eventually forced out. "… the Fearsome Five, who were joined by, as sources say…" He sighed deeply. _"… former_ Word on the Wings correspondent Julia Plumis."

That cold feeling now took over her body completely. She swayed on her feet, but there was no chair to fall into. The inset on the screen changed to show her with the FOUL device, as the surrounding people fell to the ground. Where had they even gotten that photograph? How much of this had Glomgold set up?

Why did this have to happen to her?

"Plumis, shown here, is alleged to have activated a terrorist weapon that caused great risk of harm to the surrounding populace and agents of the law." Ganderson frowned tightly, and again looked like he wanted to say something else – something, Julia assumed, that might have been in her defense.

"This, in addition to information having come to light about Ms. Plumis' a… alleged extensive criminal connections, has led to authorities calling for any information leading to the arrest of-"

He kept talking after that, but she was no longer listening. She felt faint. Despite the mounting devastation in her mind, she couldn't blame Clive. She was grateful, even, for that momentary hesitation. And she knew full well, now, why he couldn't act on it.

There were other people far more worth the hatred.

She fell to her knees. "I… I can't believe it. He actually did it. I failed! M-my life… my life is _over!"_

Rowe winced, unable to avoid looking at the train wreck. He turned to the others for a clue what to do, though most of them were back to staring at the screen, reminiscing about the brawl and waiting to see if any pictures of themselves would pop up.

Bushroot was the only other one paying attention. He gestured for Rowe to say something. Which he did, with no small about of duress. "Er… there there, mate," he mumbled.

Bushroot palmed his temple. "Seriously?"

"Hey!" Rowe snapped. "I'm no good at-"

"LOOK OUT!"

The rest of the Five casually lifted their legs out of the way as Quackerjack's "puppy" broke off its chase and ran straight for Plumis – perhaps picking up on her distress. Quackerjack's toys had a way of zeroing in on sad people, thanks to the toymaker's twisted belief that his inventions made people happy. But as it was less of a cute little doggy and more of a hulking mechanical death machine, it was more likely to bite her face off than make her feel any better - especially since he had just sharpened its teeth this morning…

Julia shrieked and scrambled backwards, but the dog continued to follow her. Around her, most of the five were watching with mild interest – though Quackerjack was excited of course, and Beakley was in the corner barely hiding her glee at this development. Rowe and Bushroot were the only ones who looked somewhat concerned, but they were too careful to get physically involved.

"Hoo hoo!" Quackerjack giggled. "Now _this_ is fun!"

"Shut up, Quackerjack," Bushroot chided. Then he talked to Julia, his tone slow and cautious. "Back away slowly. No sudden moves. Do _not_ make it think you want to play!"

But Julia wasn't listening hard enough. She reached behind herself for something, anything to use to defend herself, but all she could get her hands on was one of One-Shot's spare baseballs rolling around the corner. "I… I don't…" She squeaked. She jumped to her feet and prepared to run, but there wasn't anywhere to go. "Get away from me!"

The quick activity was the worst thing she could've done. The dog kicked into high gear, and leaned back on its haunches to prepare for a pounce right at Julia's throat.

Rowe and Bushroot winced and turned away, while Beakley leaned forward with a wide, anticipatory grin. Julia gulped, knowing there was nothing she could do. This was how she was going to die, a ruined wreck in the company of uncaring criminals. It wasn't fair.

In that last moment, she gave up. She looked down at the ground, tuned out the rest of the world and let her hands fall – prepared to let whatever gristly demise was coming to her happen.

But then suddenly, it clicked. In her anxiety, she stared at her hands and noticed she was still holding the baseball. She turned it over as if it were the first time she had ever one. Then she looked up at the puppy, with a discerning eye she didn't know she had.

It was as if her body was acting on its own. Out of nowhere, it knew exactly what to do. Just as the robot was about to jump, she gripped the ball tight in her hand, made a perfectly balanced wind-up and threw the ball straight at a very specific, very _precise_ point on the its metal side.

The "puppy" froze. Then spasmed. Then started to spark. And finally, fell over like a house of robotic cards.

The room was silent – and Julia knew why: she was shocked too. Quackerjack bellowed and leapt over the couch to reach his "baby's" side, cooing over its injuries like a mama bear . On the other hand, One-Shot actually clapped.

"How did you do that?" He said, impressed – though a little suspicious.

"W-what? That? It was… it was easy." She babbled, though despite her words she was just as overwhelmed at what she just did. "I just aimed for the right part to… um…"

"Only _I_ know what the right parts to _my_ inventions are!" Quackerjack shouted. He hopped away from the smoking robot and advanced towards her, snarling. "You, Miss Reporter, have been dropping eaves all over the place!"

Julia gulped – the robot might not have been the most dangerous part of her morning after all. Beakley was grinning again, which she was starting to learn did not mean anything good.

"I… what? No, I…" She stammered. "Get back!"

"That's _my_ intellectual property! You _are_ a thief!" Julia thought that was a very ironic thing to say, but now wasn't the time to bring that up.

"And nice form on that throw." One-Shot said quietly, as if he was thinking – though he never struck her as someone who pondered much. "For a second she kinda looked like… _me_!"

"I don't know how I did that. I've never played baseball in my life. I… I just _knew!"_ She buried her head in her hands. What was going on? "P-please, I don't know what's… what's…"

It was finally too much. She broke down completely, unable to process any more. "J-just leave me alone. P-please…" She cried, though not even she really knew what she was trying to stop any more.

The atmosphere had become too awkward for the rest of the Five to ignore any more. But even so, suspicious was giving way - not to concern perhaps for the most part, but to a very devilish curiosity.

"… you don't think that crazy machine had a few lingering effects, do you?" Bushroot said to Rowe. Quackerjack backed up and joined them, having dropped his anger and come to a similar conclusion himself. "I mean, she _was_ right next to it."

"Dunno, mate." Rowe shrugged. "But I do think we've got a lost soul here with some _interesting_ potential. Would be a crime to cut her loose after she lost everything." He grinned deviously at the other two, who nodded.

"If that's a crime," Quackerjack said loftily, his mind already buzzing with ideas. "Then this is one time it might be more fun _not_ to break it…"

The rest of the assorted supervillains laughed, even as Julia broke down in front of them. Together, the three leaders of the Five led her back to her room, knowing that tomorrow would be an interesting day for their newest recruit.

Meanwhile, Beakley slipped out of the room while everyone's attention was elsewhere. Watching her hated replacement's meltdown had run its course, especially now that it was clear they would nevertheless be keeping her around (as far as Beakley was concerned, they should've just tossed her into the sewer with the rest of the refuge). Still, the need to stomach having that prissy snoop around was well worth the entertainment value of knowing how far she had falled. As well as… other rewards.

As she wandered through the tunnels, she heard a loud, rhythmic clanking start to echo through the air – nothing to be concerned of at the point, given how much the members of the Five were used to it by now.

"Just on time," she mused, as Armstrong became visible, plodding through the endless passages on his way back to their secret headquarters.

When he spotted her, his expression remained impassive, though she expected nothing less. A less mechanical soul would, of course, have been impressed.

"VAIN. COMPATRIOT…" He said by way of greeting. She gave him a token sneer, which he ignored as usual. "I. HAVE. RETURNED. FROM. WHAT. YOU. ORGANICS. CALL. "VACATION…" Without further elaboration on what at all that meant, he carelessly dropped a package in her hands. "I. COME. BEARING. A. GIFT. FROM. A. MUTUAL. FRIEND."

Then he walked towards the common area, not bothering to follow up on whether Beakley bought his lies or not. Likewise, she had no further care for her tin teammate.

She looked to the package in her hands: just the right size, just the right weight. And when she tore it open, several stacks of glorious bills came tumbling out into her waiting hands.

In her own reporting days, she had always had someone do the camera work for her. But with her drones, taking the odd picture of anything she wanted was easy. And if Glomgold was paying, well, who was she to say no. The trio of clods who ran this outfit might have a problem with it, but they could hardly talk: the Five "charter" said very clearly that the members could take their own jobs as long as they made clear it _didn't_ involve the others, and plus were they or were they not pretending that Armstrong's _very obvious_ alliance with Glomgold wasn't a thing?

Besides, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. She planned to keep this little sale to herself, and reap the rewards on her own. A payday of several thousand, the chance to see her work (uncredited, rather) on television for the first time in ages, plus the opportunity to completely destroy Julia Plumis' life?

Yes, those were all rewards well worth the hassle…

* * *

 _Undisclosed Location, Several Thousand Feet Above the Ground,_

Elsewhere, a similarly nefarious soul enjoyed the benefits of their own similarly nefarious success.

Pegleg Pete strode briskly through the corridors of the new Iron Vulture. It was the little things in life that he liked to treasure: the jingling of coins in his pockets. The flinches besides him as sounds of his steps - _step, clank, step, clank –_ unnerved the oafs in the crew. The memory of a would-be "hero" on the other side of his boot, and _nearly_ putting down a major thorn in their side.

Next time, though. Next time he would have that irritating kid dead to rights. Him and that costumed clown from St. Canard.

Their new airship was nothing like the titan of their glory days, the one they had intended to resurrect for the modern era. This one was smaller, had a ranshackle design that practically came from a flea market, and sported far less lethal weaponry – at least, from what he heard the crew tell of it.

Pete was a little miffed that he missed the chance to try out some of their serious weaponry, but not much. He's has – and in fact did – make due with far less. And speaking of which….

He pulled a hard right and veered down a hidden corridor, into a secret room in the ship's hold. Only the older and most loyal of the crew knew what was down there – excepting Pete, of course, who was a special case. Pete, in fact, was the only one allowed to go this way.

The room at the end was dim, as usual, with the only lamp around being near the entrance where Pete stood. There was a chair in the center of the room, and its occupant was not much for bright light. Or mirrors, in fact, in the times he could see them. And certainly was not one for being interrupted without purpose, so Pete made sure to give his report sharpish.

"De job's done, boss." He said as soon as the door shut behind him. "Dose idiots all fought over de files and musty old abandoned projects like we figured. Dey never thought caught onto our real plan."

"Like _we_ planned?" Came the reply, course and weak.

Pete laughed. It wasn't usually his style, but he was also no stranger to weathering a bit of condescension if the payday was good enough. "O' course. Like _you_ planned, boss."

"You brought me some, yes?" The boss continued. Pete nodded, and the boss extended a faded, clawed hand. "Give it!"

Pete was happy to oblige. Much as the sound of clinking coins made gave him the warm and fuzzies, he was smart enough to know that _these_ coins weren't necessarily worth the effort. He had enough real money to give him what he needed besides.

The sack of coins – a small fraction of the windfall they had successfully smuggled into the country – dropped into the boss' hand, coins slipping over his palm which he eagerly gripped in his fingers. They were just any coins. They were old: Incan coins, stolen from their people by fools and laid to rest at the bottom of the sea for hundreds of years.

"Yes…" The boss whispered, as he held the coins close. One could have heard the sound of creaking as he moved, but nevertheless he leaned forward for the first time Pete had seen in months as a toothy grin spread across his canine face. "I am feeling it! I already look like the young man, _yes no?"_

Pete smirked. So it was working, after all. "If you say so, Cap'n."

Don Karnage laughed – wheezing, perhaps, but clearer than he had been in some time. "I need more! Scramble the pirates. Every last teensy tiny one! Bring me all my gold! All of it! By the shovels if you need to!" He dropped the bag to the ground – under his chair, where no one else could have it – and glared, attempting to pierce Pete's thick skin.

Whether it worked or not, it wouldn't show on Pete's face. "Of course, Don Karnage. I'll make all the arrangements you need," he said indifferently, before turning on his heel and leaving the way he came.

The King of the Air Pirates was alone once more.

He was used to the feeling: a bitter, isolated pit where a once dashing and charismatic wolf was left to languish. But he could feel something new invigorating him, something that pierced even the aged and decrepit waste his defeats had reduced him to. It was a need unlike any he had ever faced. A need he knew would save him, and doom his enemy.

"Yes… he he heh… the gold, it is mine! Mine alone." He said, to nobody but himself and the satchel beneath. "And once I have it all, they will be seeing a lot more of me!"

His laughter echoed throughout the empty room, the only sound save for one only in it's occupant's head: the constant, beautiful clinking of coins, a simple thing which will bring him such satisfaction soon…

* * *

 _St Canard, The Relatively Pleasant Inn,  
_

NegaHonker slipped through the door of his hotel room, and threw his hoodie baseball cap over the coat rack. He had to allow himself a little bit of enjoyment, coming back here: the room was nice, sizable, and best of all had soundproof walls. "I think it's safe to say the coast is clear!" He shouted to the room at large. He more muttered the next part, but kept it loud enough that his "roommate" would hear. "It's a miracle that nobody made us on the way back here, but there ain't a single cop or cape poking around the hotel, so I'd say we're good."

"Took you long enough." Came the reply, and NegaHonker looked around to find Crimson – now out of costume and back to being Gosalyn Mallard – laying on the couch. "You know, for a fake Honker, you're nowhere near as punctual as the genuine article."

NegaHonker hissed under his breath. But only a few hours with this altered version of Gosalyn and he had already learned that trying to stop her from talking to him like an imitation was not worth the effort. He could get payback in other ways.

"Still laying around, I see," he grumbled, his voice teeming with sarcasm. "What a productive 'hero' I've pulled to my side."

"What else should I be doing? Or are you finally done 'planning' yet?" She eyed him sideways, and continued when he didn't immediately give an answer. "Besides, free cable. Nice hotel room you've got here. We were expecting you to be in some seedy dump on the bad side of town or something."

He smirked, happy to brag about a brilliant ploy. "I think of it as rule of thumb in my line of work. Don't be where they expect you to be. But don't be an idiot and go all out: luxury suite's draw attention. Regular rooms go overlooked. Just like regular people."

"How zen of you." Gosalyn replied, her voice too oozing falsity. "Are all the mercs in the Negaverse this enlightened?"

NegaHonker frowned, but didn't reply – at least not to that. "As for my plans, you can guess that yesterday screwed them up royal. I was _supposed_ to reprogram _my_ Gosalyn, and thus return her to the Negaverse to fulfill her destiny as her father's successor." He gave his accidental companion a look of pure disdain. "Instead, I got you."

Gosalyn snorted. "Whatever. I hope you don't expect _me_ to play your pet tyrant instead of her. I don't do the whole 'ducktator' thing."

"No." He shook his head. "You two may look alike, but they'll know you aren't the genuine article even if Darkwing doesn't by some miracle warn them." He paced around the room, kicking random things out of his way. "There are things she knows that you can't replicate. Connections she has that you can't approach. I don't need an evil duplicate. I need _her."_

Gosalyn twitched, and despite his anger NegaHonker got some satisfaction in the fact that he said something that ticked _her_ off this time.

"Sure." She huffed. "But watch the remote!" She said, pointing to the television remote on the floor, which was next to be knocked aside. "I want to watch Revenge of Cannibal Bloodworms tonight. Call it… heh… inspiration, for a few things I want to do myself."

NegaHonker's only reply was a short, toneless "hrm." It wasn't like he wasn't expecting violent impulses. Swapping positrons for negatrons tended to that have that sort of effect. No doubt he would need this evil Crimson Avenger and her newfound sense of hedonistic cruelty to get out of this mess and put his dimension back on track.

So he tossed her the remote, sat down in a nearby chair and got to thinking. This would require a new plan. A new approach. Maybe even a new-

"Hey, speaking of ruining plans, you mind if I go test out a little movie magic on the putzes next door? One of them gave me a funny look earlier."

\- a new level of patience like none he ever had. He would never get a new attack plan in motion if he had to deal with such distractions all the time.

"Do what you want!" He barked. "Just don't bother me!" And with that he turned himself around in his chair and pulled into a desk, seething over a blank piece of paper.

Unbeknownst to him, the new, freshly evil Gosalyn watched him closely as but a few of her simple jabs and distractions unwound him. Once she was sure he had closed himself off completely, she really did turn on the tv – where to her amusement a report about Darkwing's "mysterious" hi-speed chase was airing (the news was assuming they were fighting an invisible villain. If only they knew…)

Unlike her Honker, the one she had now hitched her wagon with was far too easy to make lose focus. Too much rage, not enough clarity. That might just bite him hard one day – maybe even one day soon.

She had rescued him because the idea was entertaining for now, and luckily for him that novelty hadn't worn out just yet. But she was more free now than she ever remembered being, and if he thought he or any of his ludicrously twisted ideals were going to be in control of her from now on, then just like Darkwing and the rest of this city, he would just have to learn a few lessons the hard way.

Well, hard for them. The best kind of fun for her…

* * *

 **Author's Note:** After a short hiatus, and a move to Monday (which is overall just a better day for me going forward), here we have the next chapter. In which we go out of the frying pan, and veer straight into the fire. It gets worse before it gets better, friends, but at least the day is saved for now. Or is it..?

Duck References of the Day: it took me a pretty long time to decide whether the bridge between St. Canard and Duckburg should be there. It clearly isn't in the original series, but it's definitely there in the reboot and in the Boom/Joe Comics. Eventually I decided on it for convenience's sake. On a less unsure note, fans of the original Ducktales might recognize the gold coins Don Karnage gets his hand on, ones that a certain other Spanish gentleman voiced by Jim Cummings wanted to get his hands on. Originally I wanted to actually put El Capitan in the mix here, but it was a bit much. That said, the story's not over yet...

To end on a joke, the name of the inn came from me here and there referring to NegaHonker's lair as "relatively pleasant" on my own, and deciding it'd be funny if it were just called that. As for our heroes... who knows? There's a **War** coming, but I think I'll leave you in suspense this time...


	10. Old Friends, New Places

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where Negaduck has recently nearly taken over St. Canard with a multi-dimensional army, and now after his defeat the world is going through a few changes.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **The War On Gosalyn - Old Friends, New Places  
**

* * *

 _St. Canard, Outside of Minkrosoft Laboratories,_

It was, all in all, a wonderful day for a tech heist. Ask one out of two superheroes and most diurnal supervillains, and they'll say clear skies and cool breezes make any harrowing afternoon of daring chases and pitched combat an utter delight.

That said, both hero and villain would also typically rather not be fighting at all. But that's the consequence of having conflicting career paths.

As such, a beautiful afternoon in St. Canard finds Darkwing Duck and his team of do-gooders facing the Fearsome Five, yet again. To be precise, today that meant the likes of Rowe P. W. Lutra, Reginald Bushroot, Quackerjack, the robotic menace Armstrong and their newest member – a garishly dressed lady duck in a monochrome trenchcoat and hat similar to Darkwing's own outfit, through with some slight stylistic differences. Her beak was bared constantly, as if she was in constant war with her own agitation.

On Darkwing's side, was the hero himself. Along the sidekicks Launchpad and Techno, and his stalwart partner the Crimson Avenger… though the Avenger's demeanor seemed somewhat off today, perhaps a bit more aggressive than usual.

Case in point, she started today's dance on her own. Without any banter, even. "I'll handle these clowns!" She shouted, and she leapt straight into the fray.

"Wait, N- I mean, Crimson!" Darkwing yelled, but it was too late. She barreled through the Five's ranks and ran smack into Rowe, throwing him for a loop. Quackerjack and Bushroot rushed to help him, leaving the remaining four behind to settle their differences.

"SUCH. STELLAR. COORDINATION!" Armstrong crowed, throwing his head back in a show of wild amusement. "HA. HA. HA!"

"Yeah, well…" Techno replied, as he rode his hover boots into the skies. "We've had better days. Come to think of it, so have you!" He swooped low and rushed past Armstrong, who took a cursory swipe at him as he came close.

It missed, of course, but it was just a formality's sake – neither of them expected it to. Armstrong's _real_ mistake was in not noticing the tow cable Techno tagged him with on the pass. He only realized what Techno had done from the twang of the cable going taut, then away he went into the sky.

The gadget-borne hero was planning to drag him along and toss him into a wall, or something equally sturdy – the caveat to fighting a robot was that Armstrong's toughness required a more forceful approach – but his enemy had his own contingencies in mind.

A mild hum emitted from Armstrong's body: the only warning, before he, the cable and Techno on the other end were jolted by a surge of electricity. Techno dropped Armstrong on the ground – still painful, but not enough to stop him – and fell a short distance away. He tried to get to his feet, but it was a fight against his own twitching limbs.

Launchpad took this as a cue to cut in. "Hold on, Tech! I've got your back!" He said, as he ran off to give the younger sidekick some much needed assistant. The downside to this, however, was that it left Darkwing alone with the Five's last member.

The two faced off, ugly looks and calculating attack plans bouncing back and forth as they circled around each other.

Darkwing spoke first. "It's a really shame, Plumis, the company you're keeping now." He said, trying to pick up the slack from his banter-eschewing teammate. It _was_ a customary courtesy in situations such as these. "I hope you're still not trying to find out who I am."

Julia Plumis, for that's who she was beneath all that costuming, stood her ground. He could spot the old trace of regret in her furious stare, but it seemed less strong than the last time they met. "I don't need your identity any more, Darkwing. I never wanted it in the first place." She said. "Though I'm surprised you know so much."

"I did some digging." He replied, but less challenging and more soft. It never worked, but appealing to the side of right was always worth a try. "I know what happened. We can help you, you know."

"I'm flattered." She said. Her tone was flat, but it sounded forced. "But it's too late. What I want now, you'll just try to stop."

"And what _do_ you want now?"

She balled her fists, her breath coming out in hisses. "Revenge," she scoffed. "And you, out of my way!"

With not another word, she lunged forward. And despite the fight going on, Darkwing took a moment to sigh. But then, like he said, it never did seem to work. He tensed, preparing to defend against whatever amateurish move she was about to throw at him – the last time he met Plumis, she hadn't seemed the martial arts type – but assuming only knocked him off his feet.

That was no beginner's move. That was a very complicated and effective one. One barely anyone should know, but _he_ knew that move and he knew just how rare it was!

"Since when can you do a Double Web Kick?" Darkwing protested. He tried to make it come out as less of a whine – frankly, nothing _surprised_ him in this town any more – but it didn't quite work out.

"Let's just say my little accident at the auction left me with some… interesting powers." Plumis explained. She paced back and forth, tensing and untensing her hands. "I can mirror the skills of anyone around me. Those years of training and dedication to get where you are? Well I can have it too!" She snapped her fingers, "just like _that!"_

"Well, don't I feel inadequate." Darkwing said wryly. "I knew I should've invested in lessons by tape when I had the chance."

Plumis smirked. "Don't feel bad, Darkwing. It's simple." She said. "Anything you can do, I can do. That's why I call myself **_Extra!"_**

"Oh, like a newspaper! That's actually pretty funn-" He had to duck suddenly as another kick swung past near his head. "-hey!" He shouted. He remembered the maneuver and had a defense ready, but she had a defense ready for that defense, and so on and so forth.

They separated a few moments later, neither able to get any headway on the other. This, as one could imagine, was rather annoying for a certain vainglorious superhero.

"So what now, 'Extra?'" He said, not dropping his stance. "Are we to be two functionally identical combatants locked in an epic battle until Judgment Day and trumpets sound?" A pretty poetic speech, Darkwing thought, though he might have heard it in a movie someplace.

"Or you could surrender." Plumis shot back. Clearly she had seen that movie as well. "Or better yet, I could _make_ you!"

She suddenly did a movement where she feinted alongside Darkwing, then roughly grabbed his arm, wrenched it painfully and threw him onto the floor – nursing a hurt wing and a seriously singed pride.

"Hey," Protesting did seem a little whiney, but still. "That wasn't-"

"One of yours, I know." She said. "It was one of _hers."_ She thumbed towards Crimson, who was still in pitched combat with Rowe, Bushroot and Quackerjack. "A little more brutal than I was expecting, but that's moot. Nobody said I had access to just one skillset at a time."

"Fantastic." Darkwing grumbled. "Simply fantastic." Clearly, this headhache was going to be a chronic one…

The Crimson Avenger launched herself from strike to strike, trying to take these jokers down fast and hard before any complications arose. After her first strike on Rowe, the others had regrouped, so she had less of an easy time taking them down hand to hand. But she had other ways, which she preferred anyway.

She threw a flying kick over Quackerjack's head – narrowly avoiding a pair of chattering teeth to the seat of her pants – and when she landed she turned and fired the default shot from her gas gun.

"What is it… right, that's it." She said to herself, before calling out to the villains like cowboy on high noon. "Eat gas, evil doer!"

They easily hopped out of the way, but it was a near thing. Quackerjack jeered from the side of a nearby building, where he had taken perch. _"Eating_ gas is a little hard," he said, giggling. "Are you sure you don't want us to _suck_ it, instead?"

Rowe pulled a face. "Eugh, mate."

"Mind out of the gutter, please." Bushroot said, with an eye roll.

Crimson, at any rate, had not yet begun to fight. She raised the gun again and fired twice more, trying to cut them off from escaping. "You can't run forever!" she bellowed.

"Wouldn't dream of it, mate!" Rowe shouted. Since he couldn't go back, he rolled towards Crimsons and tried to nail her with a sliding kick.

She jumped over his legs and rolled to a stop, then fired again. This time it was something more concussive: Rowe barely jerked away before the bang sent him to his back. Bushroot quickly rushed to him and pulled him to his feet, little worse for the wear.

"Favoring that gas gun today, eh Crimson?" Quackerjack snickered, grabbing her attention. He was bouncing from the sides of the buildings – a difficult target to hit, but she tried firing at him anyway.

The pellets easily zoomed past his acrobatics, but he was still disappointed. Yet again, she didn't bother taking up the opportunity for banter. "Awful quiet today," he went on with the same train of mockery. "Eh, Crimson?"

Crimson didn't respond that time either, but she did snarl in obvious irritation. Quackerjack laughed, taking full satisfaction at that small victory, but in doing so he may have taken his eyes off of her for _just_ a second.

In that moment, he looked back to find her a _lot_ closer than before. He stumbled to dodge a flying kick, then a sweep. Then he tried to back away for some space, but Crimson wasn't having any of it: now that she was at pointblank range, she aimed the gas gun straight at him and fired. He felt a powerful thud and gave an "oof," then looked down to find one of the gas pellets square in his hands.

His panicked jump was almost comical. "C-cutting it kind of close, eh Crimson?!" He squeaked, as he tossed the pellet away. He just in time to avoid it, as it exploded into a cloud of sleeping gas.

Now thoroughly nervous, he catapulted himself away from Crimson and landed back alongside Rowe and Bushroot – who were both similarly surprised.

"Is it just me, or is something off about the girl Dorkwing today?" He said, still a little shaken.

"Maybe she's having an off day?" Bushroot offered.

Crimson growled. She would show them an off day. Whereas Crimson might have had a snappy comeback and gone in for a strike, she stood and fired again – this time right at their feet. She watched them scatter, her irritation mounting.

But that was the wrong move. Her atypical tactics just sparked their attention more. She spotted the wheels in Rowe's head turning, and frowned. "You know what, mate?" He said slowly. "I think you're onto something, Quackerjack! Something about the way she shoots first, fisticuffs later, asks questions never…"

"Oh for…" She said "I forgot how annoying these guys could be…" she muttered under her breath, trying to hold herself back: Her temper had flaring quite a recently.

Unfortunately, Rowe caught that too. "Wait… NegaCrimson?"

She blanched, wondering just when the consummate henchmen had gotten so smart. "W-what? Do I look like NegaCrimson to you?" She barked, gesturing to her very non-Negaverse color style. "I'm the Crimson Avenger, you knob!"

But the realized far too late that she had let her irritation get the better of her, and was acting far too defensively. Especially given the way things she had said.

"Oh hey, it _is_ her!" Bushroot said. "That's odd."

A smile erupted on Quackerjack's face. "It's a small world after all!"

She slapped her forehead, not for the first time cursing the vernacular her villainous upbringing had given her. Using her father's favorite insult to his favorite insultees was not at all the best way to hide her identity.

"But why's she here?" Rowe asked, turning to the others instead of focusing on her. In fact, she abruptly found herself the odd duck out in the middle of a stalled fight.

Quackerjack shrugged. "Avoiding the NegaPaparazzi?"

"Maybe some kind of hero exchange program?" Bushroot said, scratching what passed for hair when it came to him.

"Then why would she be wearing Crimson's colors?" Rowe pondered, before turning to Quackerjack. "And wouldn't the NegaPaparazzi be pretty nice blokes you wouldn't mind getting a photo from?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it-"

This had taken a very annoying turn, and with everything going on Crimson – or rather NegaCrimson – had little time for it. "Hey!" She shouted. That grabbed their attention. She charged full speed at them, enjoying a moment of satisfaction from their surprised faces. "You figure it out!"

And so she dived into the fray, gas gun first, and the fight was on again. But in her zeal, she missed one of her number slipping away for a moment…

Meanwhile, Darkwing was still trading blows with "Extra." With the mix of both his own moves and NegaCrimson's he was unexpectedly on his toes, but he had faced his now ally enough when she _hadn't_ been his ally to have a good measure of her style.

She threw a punch, he dodged, he made a flying leap, she jumped back. That she had his instincts was more of a problem on the offensive end than the defensive. He knew how to fight himself. In fact, he'd had more practice with it than practically anybody.

Which, he figured, only gave Extra those practiced reflexes as well. What a quagmire. He considered calling Techno over – even if she copiec his instincts with machinery, she had no gadgets of her own to use those skills with. But what would the folks at the superhero martial arts message board say if he couldn't beat one perfect imitation of himself?

Besides he had a plan. It seemed she had his physical instincts, but not his intuition or reasoning. Or to put another way: while she had countered all his moves, she had allowed herself to be pushed into a corner.

He waited for the moment where she realized that: a moment's shock and hesitation, a quick but distracting surprise, then dashed forward into grabbing range. She caught herself and realized what she was doing just in time to keep him from grasping her, and kick him away, but she was stuck like a rat in an alley.

"Not many moves can get you out of that pickle, Plumis."

"It's not Plumis any more!" She snapped, before calming herself down. From anger to a smug look within seconds, no less. That was a bit disconcerting. "Plus, I'm lucky enough not to need one."

She pointed to the side. Darkwing looked – not the smartest move in most cases, but it was a knee jerk reaction – just in time to see Armstrong barreling right towards him.

"Oh for…"

The resulting metallic slam was painful, sure. But not as much as his injured pride. Armstrong didn't even seem to be joining the fight – he seemed to be trying to shake off Techno, who had attached another tow cable to him and was now being dragged haphazardly behind him, and just aimed for him on the way through. So much for asking Techno for help, at any rate.

Launchpad trailed behind him, but helpfully stopped to get Darkwing to his feet with a cheerful "hey, DW!" before rejoining the chase with an equally cheerful "bye, DW!"

Meanwhile, Plumis was obviously not in the corner any more. And Darkwing's patience was getting thin. He spotted her trying to maneuver around him, and spied another weakness: she was out of breath. She had the instincts, but not the training to use them for long.

Then again, she was so enraged that she might do something drastic when exhausted. He tried reason again, just for old times' sake.

"What are you even doing here, Plumis?" Darkwing groaned, trying to sound even more world-weary than he felt. "Really, what do you want?" He had already asked that one, hoping for a clearer answer this time.

"Are you serious?" She shrieked. Darkwing only wondered if maybe she should get her new habit of twitching looked at by a doctor. "Do you even know who owns this building?" She pointed behind him, at the building the Five had been trying to rob before Darkwing and company showed up.

Darkwing himself knew every building, every street, and ever cobblestone brick in his beloved city by heart. He could look at any picture of the city, and tell the history of that neighborhood (and its crime demographics) going back at least a hundred years. It was a point of professional pride for him.

Case in point, the building they were fighting over was a tech firm, well known for extremely hi-tech and ludicrously valuable microchips: an older business, but one that had been recently acquired by…

"Oh..."

"That's right," Extra answered for him, once she saw she understood. She was giggling mirthlessly, though she didn't seem to have much control over it.. "Flintheart Glomgold! Glomgold took everything from me! And he's going to pay, if I have to rob every filthy, soulless shell company he owns!"

Darkwing had been right about her getting wild the more exhausted he was. He had also made the age old mistake of getting too much into the banter and dramatic reveals and too distracted from the punching and kicking. Extra leaped at him like a wildwoman and seized him ground the collar, grimacing into his face.

"Then _I'll_ get rich on _his_ stolen dreams!" She said, more breath than speech. "Seems fitting, doesn't it?"

"I… guess," Darkwing said sheepishly. "But maybe you should spend some of those ill-gotten gains and get some he-"

"I know what I need!" She screamed. She tossed him away, and fell back into her – which is to say Darkwing's - fighting stance. "And like I said, Darkwing. I like you. I respect you. I e-even owe you! But you won't keep me from-" She jerked back, yanked by something sharp on her own collar. "Gy-hey!"

Suddenly Rowe was standing there, looking uncharacteristically solemn. "So this goose chase is a revenge mission, eh?" He said, to a confused Extra.

"Hey!" Shouted a random bystander, who happened to be a goose.

"Sorry!" Rowe winced, before turning back to Extra. "We'll talk about this later. Either way, we're shipping out."

He pointed behind him, where the rest of the Five had at once stopped fighting and all started focusing on getting out the area – even Armstrong, who rarely made a habit of following the others' directives.

Extra was floored. "W-WHAT?" She bellowed, trying to wrench herself from Rowe's grip. "No! We can still win!"

"Yeah, sure," Rowe said with an ambivalent shrug. He clearly wasn't interested in listening. In fact, instead of taking her words in, he instead gestured for Bushroot. "Hey Bushy, little help with the evac?"

Bushroot had been in the middle of dodging one of Techno's blasters at the moment, but he always had time for an assist. He tossed a handful of mutagen near where they were fighting, and some nearby grass grew into a many tentacle beast: small, but just big enough to carry one belligerent teammate.

The monster picked Extra right up and absconded with her down the street, her furious shouts of "we have to go back!" and "we can't give up now!" fading into the sounds of midday traffic.

Darkwing, meanwhile, had no idea what he had just seen. Rowe just waved and disappeared into traffic – only an expert would have a hard time not becoming roadkill. Darkwing was left watching them leave, a little lost for a tangible reaction.

Techno and NegaCrimson-in-Crimson's-skin made to pursue them, but in an admittedly less than heroic move – though he had his reasons – he gestured for them to stop. There would be another day. But even so, there was still something that needed to be say.

"Well…" he said, by way of an obligatory, all-encompassing reaction, "that was… anti-climactic."

* * *

 _Meanwhile, Across Town, in a Reasonably Pleasant Inn,_

Elsewhere, in a very different and somehow far less bright corner of St. Canard – despite the sunny surroundings – and unlikely observer watched television by themselves, cooly observing the crazy battle that Darkwing had just lived through. A laugh echoed through their room at the sight of Extra being dragged away by Bushroot, but that was the only reaction thus far.

 _"… and so the vigilante known as Darkwing Duck thwarted another attack by the criminal organization knows as the Fearsome Five,"_ came the voice on the screen – a new newscaster after all the umpleasantness with News On The Wing's last personality. Unlike his predecessor, he was lacking in a certain enthusiasm ever since the new owner started cracking the whip. _"The Five's attacks, while not more frequent than in earlier years, now comes alongside a cavalcade of other dangers for our fair city, and it is… er…"_ He paused, but continued after a moment. _"… the opinion of this network that the inability to catch these criminals reflects poorly on both Darkwing and SHUSH's capabilities to deliver us from these risky times."_

 _"On that note, still no information on the reports of the new hero double who has been making appearances in the last few weeks."_ The caster paused for dramatic effect, and an inset appeared onscreen depicting the doppleganger in action. She was flying down the street in a stolen monster truck, flattening every car and swerving to just _barely_ hit every pedestrial on the way. _"This new copy is reportedly a look-alike to Team Darkwing's own Crimson Avenger, sported distinctive faded colors and ripped clothing. The populace is warned: like the double known as Negawing Duck who made an appearance some time ago, this double is reported to be far more vicious and destructive than other known doubles, and should be approached with care. With little information, the public has taken to calling her NegaWing II. Do not approac-"_

The image on the tv blackened. The watcher tossed the remote onto the couch and put her hands behind her head, relaxing. She was the very double featured on that program: one who looked very similar to this universe's Gosalyn Mallard.

And for good reason: she _was_ this universe's Gosalyn Mallard – her mind scrambled, her morality flipped, but the same young woman nonetheless. Not that anyone knew it besides Darkwing and the wet blankets she once called friends and allies.

As the report ended, her impromptu partner of the moment – the Honker Muddlefoot from the Negaverse – strode into the room. He was, officially speaking, in charge at the moment – not that she cared much for his authority or his direction. "Anything important to report?" He said, flipping through a file.

"Not really. Darkwing fights the Fearsome Five to a stalemate. Everyone loses a few teeth. It's adorable really." She chuckled to herself. NegaHonker merely grunted in response. "Though I notice they do have themselves a new Crimson Avenger."

"Oh?" NegaHonker perked up at that news. "Is that so."

"Well, not really 'new.'" She explained, musing mildly. "They pretty clearly just dressed up your Gosalyn as me. As if she were a worthwhile imitation!" She snorted. "Ha, I say! And also, ha!"

NegaHonker nodded, a very shrewd expression on his face. "Tsk tsk." He said, smirking. "You lose your moral fiber for a few days and already they try to replace you. Looks like there are very few places left that still want you around."

"Seriously? What are you, an idiot?" She barked, not caring at all how rude it was. The smirk dropped from NegaHonker's face immediately, bringing her no small amount of satisfaction. "It's obvious they're going to such extreme measures _because_ they want me around. If they were just replacing me with NegaCrimson, she wouldn't be dressed like me."

She looked at the deactivated television, where her reflection – slightly off kilter even when not out wreaking havoc - was visible in the dark screen. She had zero regrets – having her trons flipped simply did not work that way – but she did have many irritations. "No, they're having her do this to 'protect my _precious_ reputation.' Wouldn't want anyone to think their darling heroine is painting the town black and blue, would they? The losers."

NegaHonker said nothing, which only incited her to round on him. "And what's with the 'you have no home, join the dark side' act?" She said, her cohort's attempt at manipulation having not worked on her for a second. "If you haven't noticed, I'm already on your side. Well, as much as anyone really can be."

"Just making sure your loyalties are in the right place." He muttered crossly. His fingers were clenched, a sure sign she was getting his goat again.

"Well, just keep making things interesting and you'll keep me around." She said airly. "I know that's hard for you: NegaGosalyn was right, you _are_ dull as dishwater. You could use a hobby. Or a pet cat or something, jeez"

"And here I thought flipping your trons would make you a lot more in line with the cause." He complained. "Perhaps your inner 'hero' is just can't be suppressed. Feeling truthful and virtuous, are we?"

It was the kind of barb that could only work on the twisted person Gosalyn had been reduced to – one who proudly had as little virtue deep down as her former self had in spades. And indeed, her smile looked a lot more strained all of a sudden. "Trust me, if I were a _totally_ negatronic girl I'd be a lot less hospitable. You wanted a specific kind of evil Gosalyn when you zapped me trying to get _her."_ She said, indicating her Negaverse double. "I am what you made me. It's not my fault you don't like what you got. You could've had a much nastier time of it, don't you know?"

NegaHonker looked blankly at her, inciting another bout of wickedly childish excitement. "What, you really don't know about Negawing Duck?" She smiled, reminiscing about her father's addled, excessively evil alter ego. "All murder, all the time. He could fake a conversation, but it always poked through. What an animal." She sighed fondly, but then scowled as a new thought occurred. "It really is a crime that they think I'm a Negawing II. Not only is there a double already going by Negawing, but neither of them are _anything_ like me."

"It's really your fault for not thinking of a good name." He sniped back. "Next time shout it from the rooftops like your insipid old friends."

"It's not so easy! NegaCrimson is taken, obviously. I thought of AntiCrimson, but technically that's not right either. I'm not the opposite of me, not really. NegatronCrimson is too many syllables, blech…" She spotted NegaHonker sneering at her and stuck out her tongue at him. "Hey, it's hard for me. You're lucky. Nobody even knows who you are."

That got him, right in the fragile ego. NegaHonker grit his teeth, and promptly strode from the room. "Whatever. Just keep your head in the game," he hissed back to her as he went for their suite's front door, happier already just to be rid of the sight of her.

His hood was up so nobody would recognize him at first glance as upstanding young man Honker Muddlefoot. Once he was away from the hotel, he would switch to a mask that was quickly becoming his signature. "I recently made a contact who will help us pursue our goals in this universe. I'll be back in a few days. Do your best not to burn the place down."

"You got it, 'boss.'" She chuckled as she heard the door slam. He was already gone, she knew, but deriding him amused her so – he was such a pale replacement for the one she left behind. Though thinking of which… in her 'partner's' absence the childish laughter was fading into something more calculating.

"I'll just sit here, pondering my 'poor reputation.'" She sighed, making a big tragic show out of her supposed loss. The news report, though no longer playing, ran again and again in her head. It was all she could think about, over and over. "To think," she said to herself. "They want to preserve the memory of Gosalyn Mallard. Of the Crimson Avenger. Sick!"

She stared at the blank screen again, now imagining all the things that _could_ be playing on it, if she only had her way. Images of pain and betrayal flashed in front of her, and the look forming on her face now seemed more than simply manic.

"If I have nothing else to do today," she chuckled. "Then I suppose _someone_ will have to remind them what really happened to poor, sweet Gosalyn…"

* * *

 _Later That Night, Darkwing Tower,_

Team Darkwing spent a bit longer in the city than they were expecting, even after dealing with the Five. By the time they arrived, they were all far tenser than before – all itching for something that neither patrol nor any number of supervillain fights could give them: closure.

As soon as he walked in, Darkwing shouted without looking to the room at large. "Any updates?" He said, not bothering to elaborate.

He didn't need to. It was abrupt, perhaps even rude, but not too much so for Techno – who was already leaning over the console he knew they needed to check. "No…" His eyes darted across the screen, checking windows at lightning speed. "Not one. She hasn't been seen today."

Darkwing didn't react to the answer, beyond jumping to the next one. "A response from SHUSH?"

There was a brief pause as Techno checked another window, and then... "Yes." He said. Darkwing's eyes widened, but they fell again as Techno pressed on. "But it's not good news. They won't budge: they're neither building another manipulator for us, nor allowing us to build our own. They're promising serious action if we don't comply."

He slumped over the desk, his fingers gripped tight around the console. Darkwing walked over to his chair and just slipped down, frustration and resignation rolling over him. Another dead end.

"Those cowardly little…" NegaGosalyn hissed from the corner she shared with Launchpad. She was not as versed in the use of these computers systems as the other two, so in these moments she was left nothing but to stew in her thoughts and make comments. "After all she's done for this city, this _planet_ , they won't lift a finger to help her."

"I…" Techno opened his beak, and then stopped. He took a moment to compose himself, but when he did his voice was ragged and thick. "I get it, I do. Tron manipulation is what started this madness in the first place. Officially they can't risk it. Not again. But I'd hoped… for her sake…"

"SHUSH doesn't change its mind," Darkwing said coldly. "Especially not these days."

"Then I guess Plan B is still Plan A!" Launchpad added. His bright demeanor always seemed to bring optimism into nasty situations, but this was rather beyond his ability to joke away. Gosalyn was gone. And it was getting harder to get her back.

Yet despite it all, the others still turned to him. He hoped that meant there was a shred of optimism in _all_ of them. But for now, action trumped ideas like that. "The bits of the old manipulator that they took with them, right? We can use those to bring her back."

"Provided they haven't destroyed them, _and_ provided they actually let us get ahold of them." Darkwing shot, though it was more weary than mean-spirited. "Those are two very big provisos. But yes, if we get past either of those, we can still use that."

"We keep a note of it." Techno said. He pushed up off the console, literally forcing himself to stand straight – she needed him focused. "For now, though, if we can't cure her we _have_ to focus on containing her."

"She's been slippery." NegaGosalyn said, feeling ashamed. Not for the first time, she thought about how sloppy she had been in catching her double, and how sure she was that all of this was her fault in the first place… "And she's left a lot of destruction in her wake."

"And no larger scheme,"Darkwing added. "So we can't really track her plot. She's just appearing in places and causing mayhem." He turned to Techno again, and not for the last time that night asked: "are you sure there' s nothing?"

Again, Techno didn't mind. He himself checked the news feed every five minutes, which didn't little but add more weight to his chest. But still he shook his head. "Nothing much, no. There's… wait-" Darkwing stood up, and NegaGosalyn jumped up off the wall. But…

"No, never mind." They all sank back down again. But in his habit of elaborating, Techno went on regardless. "They just found out that someone defaced the statue in front of the Whiffle Boy Entertainment regional headquarters."

He brought it up on the big screen in front of Darkwing's chair, so they could see the sculpture in question. It depicted the video game icon, but all over it was graffiti'd the words CHAMPION and LOSER in respective red and purple paint.

"Someone clearly had a lot of time on their hands." Techno commented. Though with his mind centered on the recovery effort, he had little regard for the story now that he had posted it. "Quackerjack, you think?"

"Maybe." Darkwing said, remembering his enemy's well known hatred of video games and everything they stood for. "Or some punk kid, who knows. It's the only thing on the ticker so far?"

"Yes, but there are still better things to worry about right now." Techno concluded. It was colder than he was known for being, but they all were ever since losing Gosalyn.

Darkwing nodded. Part of him didn't like dismissing crime – especially interesting crime – in the city, but that part had also shrunk in the last few weeks. "I agree. Can you rig up something to keep us posted even when we're not watching the console? It would help if it could ping info about reversing tron manipulation as well."

"No need. I'll be here all night. I'll just do it all myself." Techno said. His eyes were fixed at the screen, instead of looking at any of the others – no doubt because he knew how they would respond already.

Launchpad gasped. "Hey now, Honk-man! You and DW barely get any sleep as it is!"

NegaGosalyn almost jumped in to agree, quietly saying something that sounded as if it could've been "she wouldn't want you to-" before stopping herself and turning away. But they all heard it, and Launchpad took it as encouragement.

"Yeah! I know you guys don't like hearing this, but you can't help Gosalyn if you're falling over yourself."

"I couldn't help her enough before, when I should have." Techno said. Despite the viciousness of what he was saying, his voice was completely calm - almost toneless. "So I don't see any problem with changing the way I act now."

Darkwing, who had been listening impassively ever since Techno's declaration, turned to him and sharply cut in. "I agree with them, Techno. Your parents…" He paused. Techno frowned – it was a low blow. "They don't suspect anything, but I know they worry about you. And since you can't tell them why, you should at least let them see you're alright. You go. I'll stay."

"I'm _not_ leaving." Techno replied stubbornly, his tone making it very clear how well any disagreement would go. "I'm not going to budge on this." And then, to illustrate his point, he continued to stare at the screen in front of him without moving an inch.

There was a long silence, before Darkwing sighed with an exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. "I suppose I have to accept that. I'm wasn't planning on leaving either."

NegaGosalyn raised her arm, and sunk further into the wall. "I'll stay too. Nothing for me out there in this universe anyway. Just tell me what you all need."

The likeliness of them needing something that night was slim, but then that wasn't why any of them were doing this. Launchpad just looked at all of them, feeling pained. He wished at least _one_ of them would budge, but he supposed that was just false hope. "Well…" He said, still keeping that loftiness in his voice. Someone had to do it. "I guess we'll need someone to order late night pizza. I'll stick around too."

Nobody said anything in response. Techno kept staring at the screen. Darkwing kept slouching in his chair, thinking. NegaCrimson continued to sulk in the corner. But they each sent him a glance – small ones, but noticeable – of what he hoped was appreciation, and he let himself feel a little better. Maybe he wasn't speaking on deaf ears after all.

* * *

 _Meanwhile, Fearsome Five HQ, Below the Fearsome Dive,_

Once they were all settled back in their nefarious lair – or reasonably nefarious at least, given the general lack of evil decorations in the underground portion of their hideout, the various members of the Fearsome Five all split up to do their own things – which essentially meant Armstrong went off to do whatever it was he did that the others were too afraid to ask about, Bushroot went to pore over files, and Quackerjack went to go bother everybody else.

Meanwhile Rowe pulled a still raging Extra into a side room, ignoring the jeers from their dissatisfied cohorts – Beakley being the loudest ("aww, foiled again? That's what you get for rolling with the newbie!"). Once in, he slammed the door to be sure they were _relatively_ alone and rounded on his inexperienced teammate.

Extra, however, got the jump on him. "What did you pull us away for! We had Darkwing on the ropes! We would've won!"

A valid response, but Rowe only stared back. "Did you ever get around to reading our charter, mate?"

Extra snorted. "A cadre of pillaging supervillains with a charter. How noble."

"Whatever keeps us from enslaving the city, I guess," Rowe shrugged. "Did you _read_ it?"

Extra said nothing. Rowe didn't really care if that meant yes or no. Most of them hadn't read it, to be fair. He himself had only ever gone through the whole thing once, despite it being in part his idea.

"It doesn't really matter either way, mate. What I really care about is if you know where we stand on revenge."

She said nothing again, so he saw no problem prodding.

"Particularly the part where it says we don't 'embroil' – Bushy's words, not mine – the group in those or any other _totally_ personal villainous plots, lest they distract us from our actual goals."

This time she did speak up. The look on her face could've killed one of weaker constitution. "Glomgold took _everything_ from me." She seethed.

"And we're sorry for you, really. But we _especially_ don't do any personal crusades against that guy."

That made her eyes bug out of her head, and her glower turned into full-on rage. "You're _defending him?!_ What, are you scared of him?"

"Glomgold and us have an… understanding, mate." She opened her beak to start what would certainly be another furious rant, but he stopped her with a gesture. "He thinks we're a bunch of idiot vandals he can con into doing his dirty work. So he overlooks the odd theft and such, thinking we're just blundering onto him and don't deserve his attention." He chuckled. "What, you think we didn't _know_ why you suggested this job? Bushroot, Quackerjack and me, at least. It was obvious. That's why we took point for it. We were fine with it as long as _he didn't know about it!_ And there you went shouting it to the blimming rooftops, mate!" He ran a hand through his fur, finally showing a taste of how annoyed he really was. Those microchips _had_ been worth a fortune, after all. "You do know that the tin can in the other room _works_ for the guy, right? He thinks we're too stupid to figure it out."

"What's the problem?" Extra said standoffishly. "You really _are_ afraid with a war with Duckburg's biggest crook? We'd have more allies than you think."

"Oh, we'd win without needing any help, for sure." Rowe said confidently, letting a little of his roguish ego show. "But it'd be costly, we'd probably just end up being pinched by the end of it, it'd be a quagmire, mate. Not worth it. So we let him think he's smarter than us. That way we get all the benefits."

Extra went silent as she processed this information. As a former reporter, she was good at understanding the gist quickly, something Rowe was thankful for. Explaining this to someone like One-Shot could be – and had been – a total pain.

"I don't like it." She muttered, after a moment. "I want to get him for what he did. I _need_ to."

"Then do it on your own time, mate." Rowe said bluntly, no argument further. "Look at Quackerjack. He's planning some sort of cockamamie revenge on some video game company as we speak-"

On cue, the jester's wild voice came in from the other side of the door – where he had no doubt been listening. "There'll be tar, feathers and pixels everywhere! It's going to be _glorious!_ Even if some joker _did_ beat me to the punch!"

Rowe laughed, much to Extra's irritation. But he didn't mind Quackerjack listening in: the toymaker could be annoying, but he knew to keep the people they _really_ didn't want listening – like Armstrong, certainly – away.

"Like I was saying, Quackerjack knows to pull that kind of craziness on his own. That way, the Five stays clean. Savvy, mate?"

Extra shook with restrained rage – she had a habit of doing that, ever since letting loose her inner criminal – but nodded. "Very well. I have to concede that it makes sense."

"Excellent!" Rowe said brightly. "Now for the tricky bit. As penance for breaking one of our central rules, you're on lab assistant duty with Quackerjack for the next week."

 _"What?!"_ She shrieked, and for good reason. Nobody, bar nobody, wanted lab assistant duty with Quackerjack. The mad toyman's creations were life threatening even on the best of days, and he had zero filter whatsoever. It was like an invitation for pain: nothing could be worse. "But… but… tar! Feathers! Pixels!"

"Could be worse, mate." Rowe said indifferently. "Could be Bushroot."

Except that. Bushroot, for all that he was kind and reasonable, was the biggest mad scientist around – and generally prided plant lives above people's without realizing it. Even the plants that _ate_ people. If playing Quackerjack's assistant was painful, being Bushroot's could be _terrifying._

"Fine." She spat.

She marched out of the room, looking surlier than ever before, and walked right past Quackerjack who was gushing about his new assistant. Rowe didn't care much, however. She was a grown villain, even if a newbie. She would get over it.

So instead he put her out of his mind, and gestured for Quackerjack to stop the mockery and join him with Bushroot. The three of them – as much as they claimed not to be the bosses - had things on the docket that needed discussing, and beyond that, the day had left Rowe himself a lot to think about…

An hour later found them poring over a list of applicants or interesting parties for future Five members. It was important to bolster the ranks – especially with the heroes evolving every day. Bushroot _still_ never shut up about them not having a counter for the day Morgana MacCawber inevitably came out of retirement ("she once turned Liquidator into pudding! _Pudding!")_

Rowe wasn't listening much, however. He commented from time to time, but didn't expend as much attention as the other two: even Quackerjack was more into this than he was.

Speaking of which, Quackerjack had laid three files on the table – the last three they ended up with - and was now looking through them. "Racer Rabbit. Pokerface. Chronoduck. What do we think?"

"I once saw Racer Rabbit literally trip on his own feet," Bushroot said. "But to be fair it's not like we haven't asked bigger idiots to join up. At least he's not Cementhead."

"Ha! True!" Quackerjack grinned, making a mental note to sent Cementhead another exploding file in the mail. "Back on track, though, Pokerface has no powers, which ain't so bad – it's worked wonders for me." He flashed Bushroot – the only one of the three _with_ powers – a teasing wink. "But the guy won't stop gambling, and I may fool around but even I'm not that bad a liability. What about Chronoduck?"

Bushroot shrugged. "He sent us a message today indicating that he would meet us yesterday, but since that didn't happen I assume we're not going to be seeing him again."

"Hoo! I just love time travel, don't you Rowe?" There wasn't a response, so Quackerjack tried again - nudging his comrade hard in the ribs. Villains rarely cared about avoiding friendly injury. "Rowe, you with us 'mate?'"

Even using his catchphrase didn't have the usual affect of setting him off, though he did at least respond in a distant sort of way. "Sorry, just thinking about Crimson, is all." He said vaguely. "Or NegaCrimson, I guess."

"Oho! I forgot! Someone's got a cruuush." Quackerjack sang, like a kid on the schoolyard. "Though that gets kind of complicated when you've got two of a kind, doesn't it?"

"Shut up, Quacky." Rowe snapped. "I'm serious. Why would NegaCrimson be pretending to be _our_ Crimson? Doesn't make much sense. Everyone knows she's a hero now. She could just wear her usual duds."

"More to the point," Bushroot added pensively. The files were, for now, forgotten. "If she's been going around as Crimson, where's ours?"

"Wait, mate, maybe she's hurt!"

Quackerjack rolled his eyes. _"Do_ try to hide your concern, Rowe."

Rowe shot him a look, but didn't take the bait. "It's possible, mate. Maybe they don't want to look weak, so they asked NegaCrimson to fill in."

Bushroot rubbed his chin, thinking this over. "Maybe, but Darkwing's gone out without his cronies before." He said. "Why would he _need_ her to be there, let alone to specifically take his partner's place?"

Rowe didn't have an answer. But before he could think of one – before either of them could pursue that line of thought further, in fact – Quackerjack jumped onto the table between them, knocking the files to the floor. "Tsk tsk!" He said slyly. "As always, you guys are missing the obvious."

Bushroot dived for the floor, trying to scoop up the files before they drifted apart. "Careful with those! They took hours for Spike to compile!"

"And what do you mean anyway, mate?" Rowe said, keeping to the point.

Quackerjack gave a pitying shake of his head. "Do I have to make all the clever connections around here?" He said, smirking. "Look: few weeks ago, a bigwig from the Negaverse shows up, looking they say for a way to mess with trons or whatever that stuff is – right?" The other two nodded. "So Crimson goes after him, of course. And now suddenly, we have a new, evil Crimson. And we find NegaCrimson pretending to _be_ Crimson."

Realization dawned quickly. "… you think that fake Techno turned Crimson evil." Bushroot said slowly.

"Oho! He can be taught!" Quackerjack laughed. "I think I should call myself the smart one from now on."

Ignoring him, but still intrigued, Bushroot put the files down and went back to thinking. "It does make more sense than any alternative. Nasty business, though." He shuddered.

But as thoughtful as Bushroot was being, Rowe was the opposite. This possibility was charging him up like a battery. "I don't know about that…" he said, excitement growing.

"Rowe… " Bushroot said warningly. "Don't let your infatuation get the better of you."

"I'm just saying, mate!" Rowe opened his arms in a mix between being defensive and being exhilarated. "It didn't work out before because she's into the nice guy- I mean, she's just too good on the inside. But if she's a rotter like us now, that won't be a problem. We could have a new ally on our hands."

"I think you want more on your hands than just an 'ally.'" Quacjerjack snickered. Rowe actually threw a punch at him that time – though he dodged it easily.

"And more to the point, _again,_ " Bushroot said again, this time pointedly enough to get the two to stop. "Crimson didn't just decide to be evil. She's had her sense of right and wrong rewired. Trust me, that sort of thing does _nasty_ things to the psyche. It's not worth the risk."

"Not that we don't want to be inevitably betrayed by a crazy-evil ex-superhero, you understand."

Rowe deflated. He couldn't fight that logic, even if it was sarcastic in Quakcerjack's case. "Yeah, you blokes are right of course…"

"Sure," Bushroot said, with a snicker in his voice and an understanding look in his eyes. "But let me guess, you're about to go AWOL, and do something that you assure us has little do to with the team and won't come back to reflect on us in any way?"

"Um… maybe, mate?"

He sighed. Bushroot and Quackerjack shared a look – nothing in the look, just a look. "Whatever. Just remember what you said to Extra." He put a leafy finger into Rowe's face and shook it like a college professor. "Your business. Not ours. Keep it that way. When you learn your lesson, don't come crying to us."

"He'll come crying!" Quackerjack just had to add. Rowe groaned, knowing the punchline that was coming. "I'll keep my stock chloroform tissues ready."

"Har har." Rowe replied. He was confident, even if they weren't. "It'll work out, mates. You'll see…"

* * *

 _The Next Morning, Darkwing Tower,_

Darkwing woke abruptly. He didn't know when he had fallen asleep, but clearly it had been a long time before. He was still in his chair – Launchpad never tried to get him to move when he was asleep, lest he wake up assuming he was under attack. Ever since the incident with the half dozen bruised ribs years back (even if Darkwing _had_ apologized a million times), it just didn't seem worth it to try.

He looked at the clock on the computer: nearly noon. He really _had_ been sleeping a long time! This was bordering on shamefully late!

Elsewhere, he could see NegaCrimson and Techno milling about the room – themselves having clearly only just woken up as well. The tower had beds in place for situations where none of them could leave, but Darkwing never used them: they were there for him to force Gosalyn to use. He supposed Launchpad must have moved the two teens into some of them at some point in the night.

Launchpad himself was dozing against the wall. He would have to give that guy a gift. He was almost _painfully_ loyal. Scrooge really lost a great asset when he first drove the pilot away – but then, Scrooge knew that now as well.

But now wasn't the time to be sentimental. It wasn't even the time to be waking up. They had lost time that could've been used for looking. They _always_ needed to be looking.

"Status update?" He said in lieu of "good morning."

Techno was already back at his station. "Nothing." He reported – he too was trying to shake off his bleariness as fast as possible. "It's the same as before… wait."

"Wait?" Darkwing repeated. "Is this another false alarm?"

"I… I'm not sure. Look."

He brought up the window on the big screen, which again showed the vandalized figure of Whiffle Boy.

"The statue again?" Darkwing groaned. "I thought we already decided it was Quackerjack?"

"That's still my theory, at the moment." Techno admitted. He wasn't sure why he was bringing it up again, except that completely helped his nerves. "But they found something. Another bit of graffiti. Could be important."

Darkwing waved his consent, groaning. "Let's see it."

Nodding, Techno tapped another button and the picture of Whiffle Boy was replaced with another – this time focusing on a piece of vandalism on the statue's, shall we say, posterior. Unlike the single words all over the rest of it, this was a short sentence, one most wouldn't understand at all. It just said "PAGING DARKTOR WING! 12:00! PAGING DARKTOR WING!"

Darkwing had to admit, that _did_ spark his attention. Particularly the time: if that meant midnight, it had already passed and that could've been bad. If it meant noon, they had a very short amount of time to figure out why. Even NegaGosalyn was paying more attention, though she was not much of a morning person.

"Darktor Wing? Like _Dr._ Wing?" He said. "Is there a Dr. Wing in the city? Maybe one whose practice opens at noon?"

"Several, in fact." Techno replied. "But I don't think that's what it was meant for. _Dark_ tor _Wing_ gives me the impression this was for _us."_

"So _, Dr._ Darkwing then." NegaGosalyn concluded. Despite herself, she smirked at Darkwing. "You have a PhD we don't know about?"

"You don't know everything about me, Go-" He stopped himself with a grunt, remembering a second too late that it wasn't his own daughter he was bantering with despite the very clear resemblance. Both Techno and NegaGosalyn flinched, but neither of them commented on it. "As I as saying, maybe I do, maybe I don't. But who else could it be referring to?"

"A spouse, maybe?" Techno offered, though he knew that was a reach.

Darkwing shook his head. "I'm not exactly married, Tech – not that I wouldn't enjoy it, mind. But maybe if not a spouse, then…"

And that's when the alert went off. At the same time, the pieces clicked into place. And he realized – hopefully, terrifyingly, not too late – that the statue had been the important piece he was waiting for all along.

As it was, he didn't even have to look at the awful alert for the pit to form in his stomach.

"… Christine!"

* * *

 _A Few Minutes Prior, The Home of Dr. Christine Merriweather,_

Before receiving the worst scare of her life, Christine - renowned doctor and girlfriend to one Drake Mallard, Darkwing Duck - had been hurrying home from corner store with a bag full of vegetables. It wasn't the _most_ responsible moment in her life, but Charlie was started to get to that self sufficient age, enough that she could leave him alone for five or ten minutes and not worry too much about him. Just enough time to hurry out and quickly grab something for dinner.

After a city wide invasion, most mothers would be overcome with overprotective fervor, but she had oddly enough reached a sort of zen about it. After all she had been through with her duck she loved - kidnappings, disasters, crises of confidence, not to mention that strange time Gosalyn's brain had ended up inside his body (that was one for the medical books someday!) she had come to believe that there would always been a kind of net over the city. Wrong would be dealt with, at least eventually. In the meantime, she shouldn't live in fear of it. It was naive, perhaps, but it was an ideology that kept her going.

And with all that had happened recently, it was one that she hoped helped Drake get through things as well. Drake had gone through so much - even meeting her, arguably, came as the tail end of his losing someone else he loved, albeit to marriage (she didn't much like thinking about that. She never got to closely know Morgana MacCawber, even during the invasion, but despite the awkward situation she did hope to one day). But with he's lost now, having his own daughter snatched from him... well... there was only so many times she could make him get out of his head and see the sun was still shining, away from the dark, before he slipped too far.

Heck, she could barely keep her own thoughts straight sometimes. She still couldn't believe she had been so harried recently that she forgot a huge chunk of the recipe! Where was her brain these days: she really needed to follow her own advice and work herself less, or she would end up forgetting her own head someplace!

But she supposed that was a problem for another day. Right now, all she needed to worry about was cooking something scrumptious. Her vegetable pie was the stuff of legends – or at least, that's what her son and the Mallard family always said.

She opened the door and hollered "Charlie, I'm back!", receiving a cheerful call in response. She heard him from the dining room – where she was headed anyway – and rushed inside to greet him. There he was sitting at the kitchen counter, his nose in a pile of drawing papers – just like her smart young man to be so creative!

But there was no way she could appreciate it this time. For there was more than just him one the counter there. Sitting next to him was another, who sat up and waved as she entered the room. Someone whose mop of red hair and piercing green eyes were all too familiar...

The bag of vegetables dropped to the floor with a crunch. Gosalyn was there. Somehow, she had gotten into the house – of course she had. How would any simple locked door stop her? And Charlie was right there with her.

To repeat, in her mind: Gosalyn, currently out of her mind and very dangerous, _had been sitting in her dining room alone with her little boy!_

"Hi, mom!" Charlie waved as she entered, oblivious to the utter shock on her face. "Look who came by when you were out!"

Christine waved back, too afraid and surprised to have a clear plan of action. Charlie had no idea what was going on. He knew nothing of what was currently going on. How could any of them even begin to explain it, that someone as sweet as Gosalyn had... changed? What would knowing do to him, in the long run? She didn't want to know. But that meant as far as _he_ knew, his favorite honorary cousin had dropped by for a visit, like she so often had before.

Yet it was Christine's responsibility to be painfully aware. Drake had told her all about it, about how something was terribly wrong with Gosalyn. How she had been stuck by something that scrambled her trons, and how now she was unsafe to be around at _best,_ possibly outright murderous at worst. It looked like it was paining him to even acknowledge it – the main reason she knew this wasn't just some game between father and daughter (both could be rather extensive with pranks on the other) - and it made her heart go out for him in the worst way. She couldn't imagine having to face down a loved one who had become a monster.

Maybe that lack of imagination had kept her from taking this seriously. Now she was facing it firsthand. Her ideology had taken a backseat: she was _definitely_ in fear...

"Look what we drew!" Charlie said cheerfully. He raised a picture of a person in front of a crudely drawn building – his part of it, of course. But behind the building… "See at all the pretty flowers Gosalyn made?"

Christine tensed. Those things – red and pealing - were not flowers. It was fire - and lots of it – covering everything in Charlie's drawing. Gosalyn put a finger to her beak, silently telling Christine not to correct him, but her mind was reeling. What did she mean. Did Gosalyn intend to set them all ablaze?

She gulped. How could someone so much younger than her make her so anxious?

"C-charlie. Come here." She said, as evenly as she could muster – which was not very. "Y-you have to clean your room."

"Aww, do I have to?" Charlie groaned, but he kicked off his chair regardless and started walking around to Christine's side of the table.

But Gosalyn was watching him. Not moving, just watching. Christine trembled, feeling a sense of dread. Charlie was _almost_ out of her reach. All he had to do was go a few more steps, and…

At the last possible second, Gosalyn's hand reached out and firmly grasped the boy's shoulder. Christine gasped, but Gosalyn simple leaned as cloesly down to Charlie's level and said. "Listen to you mother, Chaz. She knows what's good for you…" She looked up into Christine's eyes, an unsettling amusement lurking behind her green irises. ""Most of the time."

"Okay," he responded, a bit confused – after all, he _had_ been listening. "And it's Chuck… I mean, Charlie," he stumbled over his words, surprised by Gosalyn not using her usual nickname for him. He was completely oblivious to the silent exchange of threats, pleadings and declarations of intent going on between his mother and his "cousin's" eyes.

After far too long in Christine's opinion, Gosalyn let him go. He hurried over to his mother, down about having to do a chore but – most importantly in Christine's eyes – completely unharmed. She ruffled his hair, just happy to see him alive at this point, and quickly ushered him back into his room, where Gosalyn's or her own words couldn't reach him.

Once she was sure Charlie was safe and out of earshot, she went back to confront her evil stricken friend straight, no pretense. She started before Gosalyn could say a word, hoping to get her off balance. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't I visit one of my dearest friends?" Gosalyn mewled, hardly off balance at all. "Honestly, you get your trons reversed one time and everyone is so hostile. Make you just want to… " She grinned wickedly, eyeing the room and all its expensive items. ".,. _break_ something, you know?"

Christine stood her ground, with difficulty. "Gosalyn, please." She said evenly.

"Oh, fine. Call this a… er… scheduled visit. I left Darkwing – sorry, _Drake_. My bad" She made a vomiting gesture with her finger at the name. "I left him an invitation, but I don't think he got it." She shook her head, feigning disappointment. "What an idiot, sometimes. Makes things so difficult."

"He's your _father,_ Gosalyn." She said forcefully, hoping she could push Gosalyn into realizing how out of character the things she was saying were.

Sadly, she pushed her all right, but not in the way she hoped. _"Shut up!"_ Gosalyn barked, and it was like her mood suddenly became something horribly different. Her eyes flashed with an evil glint, and Christine almost thought Gosalyn was going to hit her then and there. "That's _not_ who I am right now! And I'm trying to be… er…" The look in her eyes disappeared, and she instantly calmed down. "… dramatic. Is it working?"

She was smirking. Had the mood swing been fake? Was Gosalyn just messing with her? If so, Christine didn't want to give her the satisfaction, so she didn't respond.

Gosalyn realized there was a lack of feedback, and she pouted – more false reactions. "Oh, don't be so melodramatic. Like you haven't been in mortal peril before. Comes part and parcel with dating my dad. You might be a poor man's Morgana MacCawber, but you've seen your fair share."

The shot about Morgana hurt, Christine had to admit. But she was able to push it down. Gosalyn had _never_ so much as implied any feelings like that before, so it was easier to dismiss now. "I'm more worried about Charlie than I am for myself." She said automatically. At once, she realized that saying it out loud was likely a _seriously_ bad idea. Gosalyn perked up just hearing it, the nasty glint in her eyes dancing in the light, made her stomach turn.

"See, that's not the kind of thing you should say to a supervillain." Gosalyn giggled. She threw her back into the chair and munched lazily on the contents of Christine's fruit bowl, but her eyes watched Christine carefully. "It's just an invitation. Now I wanna find him and toss him off the roof, just to see what you'd do. You get me?"

She _did_ get it. Christine stepped back, so that she had one step more away from Gosalyn and towards her son. Gosalyn noticed this, and laughed.

"You really ought to protect him better," she said, with a provocative sort of humor. "I just walked right in – minus a broken lock or two. What kind of mother leaves their baby boy alone when there's dangerous folk lurking about? I had half a mind to skin him alive just to teach you a lesson!" She took a moment to laugh, watching Christine shudder. "But he draws such masterpieces, I had to keep him around just to see more."

"Please stop talking like that, Gosalyn," Christine pleaded. But Gosalyn just smirked.

"Make me."

Words weren't going to help, Christine could see that now. "S-so now what, then?" She said, trying to keep her composure. Her eyes darted behind her, where Charlie was cleaning unawares.

"Good question. Knowing my family, I've got maybe…" Gosalyn checked her wrist, even though there wasn't a watch there. "Seven minutes and thirty seven seconds before my father bursts through that door. A two and a half minutes less if Techno is going at top speed, which, let's face it, he is." Christine spotted a fond, but possessive look cross her face. It was gone in an instant. "So there isn't much time left for us to chat, woman to woman. More than enough time to finish up, though."

Her stare had gone from amused to positively predatory. Christine tensed. This was it, then. "Are you going to kill us, Gosalyn? Are you that far gone?"

Gosalyn rubbed her chin, making a show of thinking. "… nah, I don't think so," she said after far too long. "I mean, I was totally _going_ to. I came over here intending to have _way_ more fun than this." Christine's eyes widened. She didn't at all like what that was implying about their conversation. "But this was just so _easy,"_ Gosalyn groaned, not unlike Charlie had when she asked him to clean his room. "Not cathartic at all, really."

In a flash, she was at her feet. Christine stayed at her spot, between her and Charlie, not daring to let her guard down.

Gosalyn walked to the door and yanked it open. She stopped at the doorway to send Christine one last look. "So tell Charlie I said goodbye!" She said, as cheerfully as every other time Christine had heard her say it. "And maybe be more careful. I might not be so blasé next time…"

Then the door slammed, and she was gone. Christine melted into the floor, her nerves falling apart all at once. She couldn't believe they had made it out of that. She couldn't believe the things Gosalyn had said, the way she acted. It was almost too much to process – if it hadn't ended when it did, she wasn't sure her constitution could have taken it.

She hopped up to her feet: she was going to go to Charlie, and hug him and squeeze him and let him know how much she loved him…

… and then the door popped open again.

She practically had a heart attack. Gosalyn poked her head through the opening as casual as could be, despite the shock plainly visible on Christine's face.

"Oh!" She added, as if she really had forgotten something. But the wicked grin gave her away. "And make sure my father puts my art up on the wall. His approval means so much to me, you know…"

Another slam, then silence.

This time, Christine was unmoving, not comfortable with assuming whether she was gone or not. She knew this fear was exactly what Gosalyn had wanted her to feel, but she still couldn't move a muscle, just in case.

Around six minutes later Techno appeared at her window, asking her over and over again if she was okay. A minute and a half later, Darkwing himself burst through the door – NegaCrimson in tow – and it was only then that Christine allowed herself to break down. He broke down a little with her, just to hear what his daughter had become.

Ten minutes later, they had decided that she and Charlie would spend some time with "a friend of the family." They weren't sure which yet, but it would have to be someone out of the way with a very good security system. They weren't, admittedly, short on options on that front. The decision wouldn't be difficult when they got right down to it, she knew, but talking about it gave her nerves some much needed calm.

Darkwing, meanwhile, was examining the drawings Gosalyn had made with Charlie. The boy didn't know anything about it, but if her parting shot was actually some kind of clue (and given the clue on the Whiffle Boy statue, that was likely) then something significant was hidden there.

He wasn't having a good time looking, however. "A city in flames…" he said, eyeing the very suggestive imagery. "NegaHonker has a lot to answer for, for the craziness he has her living with." He raised a fist, making it clear what that "answering" would look like.

"Not just a city, but a specific building." NegaCrimson added over his angry threats. She was looking over his shoulder, trying to put her best "enemy operative" instincts into this. Christine had the occasional interaction with her, but not much, and it was always… bizarre… to say the least. She wondered how the others had gotten so used to having their doubles around.

"She had to have drawn that building behind the boy's stick figure," NegaGosalyn continued. She pointed to part of the drawing "And there's some writing in front of it, see?"

"S.C.C." Darkwing read. He played the letters over and over again, picking them apart. "What could that mean?"

NegaGosalyn scratched her head, under Crimson's hat. All the references she could think of pertained to the Negaverse, and were thus useless.

Launchpad, however, had no such restrictions. "Still Commiting Crimes? Stop Corrupted Crimson? Stop _me_ if I get something close."

"The Southern Calisotan Congress?" Christine offered.

"I think I know…" Techno said from behind them. Darkwing and Christine turned to see him staring into his visor, a look of utmost horror growing on his face.

"What?" Darkwing quickly jumped to his side. "Is it the news ticker?"

"S.C.C. It's… it's St. Canard College," he replied shakily. "The school Gosalyn is going to. Someone set off a firebomb there. A lot of them, actually."

Christine gasped. "She didn't…"

"Is anyone hurt?" Darkwing asked forcefully.

"No…" he said, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief – both for the people, and for Gosalyn's sake. "Classes are over, so there weren't many people there. But the campus is still in flames."

Darkwing snapped to action. "Then we need to get out there!" He declared, gesturing to Launchpad. "Let's get in the air, L.P. Ready the firefighting gear." He turned to Christine. "We'll drop you and Charlie at the Tower for now."

Launchpad ran out to ready the Thunderquack, without question. Charlie was already out there – the jet was heavily secure, after all – and was obliviously excited about being able to ride with a superhero. Christine was about to insist she come along with them, in case anyone needed medical attention after all, but she considered her son and thought better of it. She needed him safe and in her sight more than ever now.

But she did have a question, and though she knew it was the hopeless sort she had to ask anyway. "Why is she doing all this, Drake?"

Darkwing looked to the floor. He looked more lost than she had ever seen him before.

"I don't know," he whispered, just as much to himself as to her.

"I have a theory." NegaGosalyn said. Her thoughts made her quiet, yet she still grabbed everyone's attention. She saw them all look to her, and frowned. "She insisted that being Darkwing's daughter wasn't 'who she is.' She called killing Christine and Charlie 'cathartic.'"

Techno joined in, catching on. "She defaced the symbol of her favorite video game series. Then she attacked you two. And now she's set her new school on fire."

Darkwing gasped. "She's attacking everything that's important to her."

"Everything that's important to _Gosalyn Mallard,_ " NegaCrimson clarified. "She's making a point."

The room went quiet for a moment. But Darkwing, despite this unsettling news, would not be slowed down. Not where his Gosalyn was involved. "So let's dull that point. Chris – we're shoving off. You two-" he pointed to Techno and NegaCrimson, who were still in thought. "Try and figure out where she's going to strike next. It's go time people!" He grabbed Christine and swooped her to the door. "Let's get dangerous!"

Christine couldn't help but laugh, even through everything that she had just been through. "I love it when you say that," she said as they made for the plane, meaning every word. He returned the feeling with a tiny, if fleeting, smile.

Behind them, NegaCrimson watched the Thunderquack take off alone. Techno was with her, but he wasn't watching anything right now. He was thinking – a mile a minute. The discovery of Gosalyn's new motive had galvanized him. There were many things that Gosalyn loved, which her reversed self would delight in destroying. His own family, for one. Figuring out which she was more likely to hit was an exercise in worry.

"Any ideas?" NegaCrimson asked him, once Darkwing as gone over the horizon. It wasn't a helpful question, but she could hardly have known that so he kept his irritation to a minimum.

"Too many," he replied miserably. "I can hardly believe she would do this. How could I pin down what she'll do next?"

"Break it down." NegaGosalyn advised. "Her video game. Her friend. Her school. Is there a pattern?"

"Her _new_ school." He corrected, just out of habit. It was an instinctive thing, but then he got to thinking about it. "Wait…" He stopped short. It wasn't precisely a _pattern,_ but… "She went after things and people she loved, but her biggest attack was on her own future. But what about…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "… her past…"

"Your high school?"

"If she wants to erase Gosalyn Mallard, there's no better place." He said tensely. His mind raced, thinking of the risk. While none of them were still in school, except maybe the last few in summer classes, many students lived in the neighborhood and would still be there!

His hover boots were already active. He only hoped they could get the both of them there in time. "We have to go NOW!" He shouted.

Without waiting for a response, he held out his hand for NegaCrimson to take. There was no time or ability to call Darkwing back for the Thunderquack, not with the campus in need of the Thunderquack's fire suppression. But since NegaGosalyn didn't know the area he would have to carry her, which would just slow them both down. For all he knew, that would make them _just_ too late. And somehow, he suspected Gosalyn knew that too. But he had to do it anyway.

The same things occurred to NegaCrimson, but she came to the same conclusion. This felt like walking into a game where their moves were already set, just like it had been on the bridge.

But this time, they were hoping to play to win…

* * *

 _Across Town, A Short Distance from Tad Stonechatter High,_

Tracking the movements of a highly trained superheroine-turned-supervillain was not easy, and Rowe thought he deserved a real pat on the back for accomplishing such an accurate and well executed feat. True, he had been turning his contacts upside for hours looking for a sign of the evil-ized Crimson or her Negaverse cohort to no avail, and only caught her trail when he looked up to check the weather and spotted her hopping over a distant rooftop by sheer coincidence. But he considered the ability to use such happenstance effective to be the sign of a true tactician.

He was also a bit faster on his feet than she was – though since he was on ground level and she was not, he also didn't have to worry about climbing sides of buildings until after he got to what he figured was a decent rendezvous point. Still, he was very much out of breath when she finally came across him – which ruined the cool effect that leaning cavalierly against the rooftop guardrail might have otherwise given.

She, of course, was not the least bit tired. He needed to get back to the gym, obviously. "Rowe." She said. He couldn't tell whether she was surprised to see him or not, but at least she stopped. "I guess I should've known I'd see you eventually." She smirked. "I suppose you like what you see?"

She gestured to her uniform, which he had been planning to reserve comment on. It was the same Crimson Avenger he was used to, but it looked like it had gone through a shredder and then dipped in turpentine. It was creepy as anything, but it was also not something a virtuous and positive Crimson would likely wear, so for that reason alone he supposed he did like it after all.

Also, was that a flirt? That sounded like a flirt. Maybe he was getting his hopes up, he wasn't sure. Was he… giddy?

"Not bad, mate," he said, laying on the otter charm. "Villainy does you good, Crimson."

"Somehow, I think you'd say that to me no matter what," she returned. That was it, she knew him too well to not be her. His heart skipped, just a little. Maybe there was a _little_ hope raising going on. "So how did you find me out?"

"Well, I was fighting NegaCrimson," he started. "She's dressed as you by the way, and-"

She cut him off with a high, loud laugh. "Say no more. I should've known my double would screw that up."

Rowe felt the oddest urge to defend his old teammate. It was, after all, only because he knew her so well that he had seen through her act. But he let it go. That wasn't why he was here.

"So, mate…" he said smoothly. "What brings you to the rooftops today?"

That was lame. He couldn't deny. But as far as icebreakers go, it wasn't going to earn him a punch in the face. Heck, he once got _shot_ over one of his "icebreakers," though neither Negaduck nor NegaCrimson remembered it.

"A better physique than yours, apparently," she jabbed back, taking in his still ragged breathing.

"R-right…" he winced, feeling sheepish. A gym for supervillains, he had to make a note of that. He'd make a killing. "Well, I just had to meet you."

"I can imagine why."

"N-no! Nothing like that!" This was suddenly going less well. He decided to switch tracks to the business angle. "The Fearsome Five is always looking for fresh new faces, mate, and frankly we could use a Crimson after the last one ditched us." The sudden look in her eyes told him he had made a big mistake, and he instantly went back on his words. "Which is to say, we need the genuine article! Who could beat us with you on our side, mate?"

She stared at him for a moment. Too long for him _not_ to feel like an idiot, at least until she finally said something. "Sounds like a hoot," came her wry response, in a way that didn't _totally_ seem genuine. But he would take it anyway! And Bushroot and Quackerjack thought this was a bad idea! "But first…"

She looked away from him, in the direction she came from – as if scanning the sky for something. "I'm on a bit of a time crunch," she explained. "And I have an errand or two I want to finish."

"Aye, criminal errands, that I can get behind!" He said, trying to sound professional but not quite managing it. The thought of her as an actual, factual villainess - away from that loser from the Negaverse and into a close working relationship – was a bit too much to downplay. "We're _all_ about that in the Five, you see. Got each other's back in every way, mate. You need something, we got it. Course, there's a bit of concern about the amount of mayhem you've been stirring up, but I'm sure it'll all blow over once they get to know you and you take a gander at the charter. Though we should probably keep your real identity on the- hey!"

She was gone! Evidently, he had been babbling too much. He spotted her on the next building over, and hopped over the alley – not a small feat, but one most supervillains could do backwards – to rejoin her.

"Not patient much, are you?" He huffed.

She didn't seem to be listening, however. She pointed to a large building a few blocks away from them. "You see that?"

Rowe peered down the way. It did look familiar. "Yeah, I think so. A high school, right? I think I saw Negaduck keeping a few pictures of it for some reason. Why?"

"We're going to blow it up."

Rowe nodded without thinking. "Well that's kinda excessive but- _WHAT?!"_

"Yeah. Seems like fun." She grinned, but not at him. "I set the explosive this morning, but like an idiot I forgot to arm it.

On a closer look, Rowe could see she was smiling at the building, as if already imagining its smoldering remains. That was not a good look for anyone. He was getting Negaduck flashbacks, here.

Still, it was a little unsettling, but it wasn't the first time a new villain had started with something extreme. Sure, unlike someone like Extra, Crimson had more than enough experience to _know_ that was a crazy plan, but he was still feeling good about this.

"Er… maybe we ought to rethink that?" He said hazily. "A bit risky just for a little fun, don't you think?"

She snorted. "And I thought Bushroot was the pansy in your group!"

"I'm just sayin', mate, it's the kind of thing that gets the cops and the capes down hard – as I'm sure you know – plus there's the danger just from-"

"Hold that thought…" She said suddenly. He was, he had to admit, getting a little annoyed at being cut off, but he tabled it.

She was staring down at the street now. He didn't see much of interest to _him_ down there – a few pedestrians here and there, and a pretty sweet convertible driving past the speed limit – but her attention was caught, particularly on a group of teenagers walking just below them.

They didn't seem like anybody special. A couple of ducks and geese, plus a cat and a fox – just your average group of high school kids. To Crimson, however, they had set off some kind of mania. The fox, especially, had set her off something fierce. Her smile had grown even wider – if that was possible. It looked like she completely forgot about blowing up part of the city, at least for now. Given the way she was acting, though, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"I think I have a change of plan in mind," she breathed. Hissed out, really.

"Um…"

"I suddenly have the most overwhelming desire to… express myself." She said, still staring at that girl. "Might even be _more_ fun than the set up I have planned. Want to join in?"

"Wait, you're going to beat up those kids?"

She shrugged. "Eh."

It almost sounded like her ambivalence was to the term "beat up." Which was _also_ unsettling. " _Why?"_

"Because I want to. Because I'll enjoy it. Because I _said so."_ She turned to look at him, and he flinched under the look in her eyes. "Is there a problem?"

"It's just… blowing up a school for kicks? Beating up some kids? Are you really sure you want to do this?" She was staring at him. Her expression was unreadable, which gave him the feeling he was walking in very careful territory. "It's not productive, is all. And…" he had to say it. He knew he shouldn't, but he had to. "I mean… I know you've changed recently, but it's really not like-"

He was cut off a third time. This time, because of the hand suddenly wrapped around his throat.

"Not you too. No, wait… _of course_ you too." She rolled her eyes, which struck him as rudely nonchalant in light of his own lack of air. It was surreal – not long ago she had _saved_ him from a similar situation. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm _really_ trying not to be dragged down by 'not acting like me.' That's why I'm _here!"_

She tossed him to the ground, and he landed rough. He coughed and wheezed, but she didn't care. Instead, she strode forward and stepped on his chest, pushing him down onto the cold, hard roof. "The question is, why are _you_ here?!"

Another good question. Maybe even the best one he'd been asked in a while. There he was, on the ground, looking up at a crazed snarl coming from someone who should never have been wearing it. This really had all gone wrong. But not for the reasons he thought.

He finally saw the bottom line. As a good guy, she was kind – sure – but she wasn't interested in him. But now that she was evil, she wasn't at all the person he wanted. _Nobody_ should have wanted her like this.

Maybe Bushroot was right. Maybe it was time to hold off on this dream.

"Aww, did I turn you off? Just as well."

And maybe it was also time to stop leaving his emotions all over his face! "I… uh… don't know what you mean, mate." He said quickly, not wanting to escalate the already pretty terrible situation. "Still down for that Fearsome Five invitation, Crimson. Er… Negawing?"

"Don't call me Negawing!" She groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. "Ugh, I _hate_ that name. And I hate so called 'villains' who act like posers."

It was best to get her mind off of the 'poser' conversation. "Well, mate, a good workshop can really help with in the naming department."

On second thought, that wasn't helping. And he knew it.

"Shut up!" She knew it too, unfortunately. "Don't you run – sorry, _help_ run – the biggest supervillain game in town? And you're worried about 'kids' who are barely any older than you?"

A valid point about his age. Being in the supervillain game, especially under Negaduck, had aged him decades prematurely. He was pretty sure he had gray hairs, not that that was relevant to his precarious situation.

"Maybe this is why this town is so boring now!" She was continuing. "Without anyone to shake things up, everyone's gotten soft! Food for thought…"

"Hey, I resent that!" He snapped, momentarily forgetting that he was literally under her heel. "We provide this town with a valuable and indomitable source of crime and debauchery, with a new scheme every two weeks at _least_. We're the best villains this town has ever seen!"

"Yeah?"

He didn't see the fist coming. He might be able to say he felt it, but not as much as he felt his head hitting the ground. The _wham_ against his skull certainly _sounded_ terrible, though. It was rattling around his head louder than life itself.

Compared to it, the only other thing he could hear was her voice, with a recognizable softness and an unrecognizable edge…

"Well, you ain't seen nothing yet…"

He woke up to another familiar face, this one exactly as agreeable as it was supposed to be – if more than a little drained. He could relate.

"T-techno? By the fur, mate…" He groaned. He pulled himself into a sit, even though his head was killing him.

Techno gently pushed him back down, or at least tried to. Behind him, NegaCrimson was standing in the wings – a welcome sight, oddly enough, even given the circumstances that lead into a heap on this roof. But there wasn't any time to say hello.

"Lie back, Rowe." Techno said. "You've taken a big-"

"No!" By the fur, it felt good to be doing the cutting off for once. "You've got to stop her! And coming from me…" he stopped to wince, ignoring the concern on the heroes' faces. "…y-you know that's saying something!"

Techno, having seen that wince, wasn't having any of it. "You can tell us what you know after you get that looked at. It might be-"

"Listen to me! There's no time, mate!" He threw himself forward – bad idea, head rush – and grabbed Techno's arms. "She… she was planning to blow up a _school!"_ Techno stopped pushing him. He and NegaCrimson looked shaken, but they didn't look surprised. Rowe supposed he was the only one who stepped into something he wasn't prepared for. "But she didn't go through with it, at least not yet. She decided to go after a bunch of students, I don't know why. But the way she is now, she'll tear right through them!"

Techno shared a glance with NegaCrimson, then gently let Rowe go. "Not if we get there in time." He lifted off, and gestured for NegaCrimson to follow him. Before they went, however, he looked back at Rowe. "Don't go anywhere, Rowe. You still need to see a doctor."

Yeah, right. That was going to happen.

Not that he didn't appreciate the sentiment, of course, but the moment they were gone Rowe made sure _he_ was gone too. Sure, he was having a little trouble staying balanced and his brain felt like it was made of mush, but he would recover. Probably.

It'd probably take his heart a little longer than his head, at any rate.

Techno seemed to feel the same way, because he caught his eye. He was hovering in place, stalling when he should have been taking off. NegaCrimson was looking at him funny, but he seemed to want to get one last thing out.

He stared into Rowe's eyes, and after a second he simply said. "Don't tell anybody." And then he was off, into the air.

Another no brainer. Rowe hadn't been planning to do that either. Maybe ever.

Once they were well and truly gone, Rowe slinked down to the ground level – a little harder than coming up, thanks to the head injury. On the plus side, he only nearly fell four times! Beyond that, hailing a taxi was easy: in this town, they were used to patrons who were a little loopy.

But before he left, he looked out to where Techno had disappeared to – the same direction those kids were walking. He wondered if he could just make out the sounds of the struggle. And maybe, wondered if that could have gone better if he'd handled it diffrerently.

Probably not. And it didn't matter, not any more. He was fine with leaving this to the people who could _actually_ do something positive about all this. He was done here.

All he could do is watch them go into the fray, and wish Techno all the best. If anyone could save her from herself…

* * *

 _Down The Block,_

It had happened so fast. One moment, Jax and her friends were walking down the street. She had just finished the last classes of summer school, and the others had come to pick her up – which is to say, start their _real_ summer with a bang. The others were all around her, right where they belonged, talking excitedly about what they were going to do and where they were going to go.

Their hanger-on of the month, Mortimer – the cat who she swears should have let her copy her notes a lot more than he did when she had the chance! – was in the rear, making the occasional addition that most of them didn't listen to.

"W-well, the amusement park just opened up that special exhibit about the robots and animatronics they use-" he was saying. The others were groaning.

"Let me get this straight," her friend Anatra had replied. "You want to go to an amusement park and see a _museum exhibit?"_

"Not to mention," the obligatory jock, though Freddy was one of many at Jax' disposal, jumped in. "You want to go an amusement park instead of a club or someplace an actual _adult_ might be?"

Mortimer had looked like a kicked puppy. Which meant this was the perfect time for Jax to jump in and look like such a grand person for taking his side. Everyone would think better of her, Mortimer would keep nipping at her ankles for whenever she needed his services, and she could ditch them once they got to the amusement park in favor of the casino next door (she never left home these days without a fake ID).

A more perfect situation she hadn't seen all day. And she had been about to say something brilliant, when light exploded all around her.

Everybody screamed. Nobody could make out anything. But Jax could _feel_ it: someone grabbed her by the collar and dragged her away. She tried to call for help, but nobody could see her. She was alone, again.

The sidewalked scratched against her as she was pulled through the street. She tried to punch and kick her assailant away despite her blindness, but they grabbed her arm and twisting it painfully behind her. She yelped in pain, and the only thing she heard in response was a whisper in her ear – a female voice she almost recognized. "Do that again, and you won't have an arm at all. And I'd rather save that for later."

She did as she was told and went limp, whimpering in fear. She could still hear her friends, but it was far, far into the distance now. The ones who weren't running as fast as they could the opposite way was trying to follow them, shouting her name and trying to tell her to run.

But they were nowhere near close enough to help her. And there would be no running. She was frozen in fear, even if she could see where she was going.

Sight came back slowly, but steadily. She was tossed to the ground, and as she looked up the darkness coalesced into a figure. She almost though it was the Crimson Avenger – she had seen the young hero on the news quite a lot – but… no. The figure was too different, like if the Avenger had risen violently from the grave. The garments she wore were a perversion of the heroine's famous uniform: all shredded, faded and dead. But the eyes that stared at her, with a terrifying mix of hatred and gleeful anticipation, were very much alive.

Jax didn't like to spread it around, but she actually didn't have much of a problem with the Crimson Avenger – even given the time her sidekick once decked her in the snout. While she didn't think much of her, either, as long as they stayed far away from her she appreciated having a heroine around to pick up the city's slack.

But this was far too real. She didn't want to be here. She didn't understand why this was happening. She wanted to go home! Why wasn't anyone saving her, yet?

"W-who are you?" She stammered. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"You can't really be this dumb, Jax." Jax froze. This woman knew her name! How? "Not that you don't deserve it in the general sense, but I'm shocked that you don't remember me! You pissed me off, and I slugged you just… like… _this!_ "

Jax had a split second to see the swing before she another punch thudded into her snout. She fell onto the floor, holding a broken muzzle and nursing a fearful realization.

She stared up at her attacker, full of sheer terror and – possibly worse – recognition.

"It can't be… G… Gosalyn?" This was impossible. There were _so many reasons_ why this didn't make sense. But… "You're… you're…"

"Am I? Seems a little farfetched, doesn't it?" The evil Crimson raised her mask for a moment, just long enough to confirm her identity, and winked. It was true. Her old friend was trying to kill her. But why? They had drifted apart ages ago!

Although… if she was honest, Jax would have to admit that it was less them no longer being friends and more a blatant betrayal on her own part… but she couldn't see why that deserved all of this!

"Don't get me wrong, it's not like you really matter in the long run." Gosalyn continued. "But with our history together, you can't deny this is way better than just nuking the neighborhood."

She tapped her chin, seemingly to correct herself. "Well, better for me, anyway."

"B-but… Gosalyn, that's crazy! What are you _doing?"_ Jax cried. And she meant it. What happened? Gosalyn was so high and mighty and supposedly "moral" all the time - what made her go off the deep end? Or… she was always so secretive. Was she like this all along?

Her blood went cold just thinking about it. What had she brought down on herself?

Nobody was coming, still.. So she did the unthinkable, and begged miserably for her life. 'Listen, Gos! I'm sorry! Really! P-please don't hurt me!"

"Why should I listen to you? You're a loser," the evil Crimson laughed in Jax's face – she might as well have outtight spit on her, with the effect it had. "Personal though this is, it's more about closing a chapter in my life. Cathartic, right?"

Jax didn't think so. But she was starting to think there was no talking out of this.

"So congratulations, 'buddy.'" The air sucked out the alley, as out came what looked like a _dangerously_ modified gas gun – loaded and ready to fire. "You're graduating from loser, and becoming a footnote…"

* * *

 _Just Above,_

Following Gosalyn's path was not hard. Once Rowe told them about the students in trouble, all Techno and NegaCrimson had to do was scan the surrounding blocks for any signs of a scuffle. The high pitched screams did the work for them.

Scattering teenagers. Smoke bomb and flashbang residue, singes on the ground and mayhem in the streets from Gosalyn blowing people out of her way… the two heroes had finally made it onto the scene, and they already knew how things had gotten hairy.

Techno scanned the group of teens for clues. Half of them were bolting as far away from they could, but a small, dedicated group was running together in a single direction. With his helmet's equipment, even from the roof he could hear them shouting "she went this way!" and "we have to save her!"

A hostage, then. Brilliant.

He glanced at the ones chasing after her, trying to guess who it was. Mortimer Marquand was with them – a familiar face since their childhood, but he didn't have a single, identifiable clique. He had even hung out with Gosalyn, sometimes. But the other two, they told him all he needed to know. Anatra Downey and Freddy Foiegras. Both close friends – as much as they could be considered friends – to… wait…

"… it's Jax."

NegaCrimson stared at him. "Friend of yours?"

He looked at the street, his expression grim. "Used to be one of Gosalyn's. Long story short, the friendship went rocky. Multiple times."

"And now her dark side wants to make her pay."

"Not on my watch,' he said, springing to action. "I may not like her, but I'm not going to let Gosalyn kill her. For both their sakes"

They were oblivious to how close Gosalyn was to doing just that, or to the bombshells their friend and teammate had just dropped, but it would not have hurt their resolve even if they did. NegaCrimson was especially eager, her charge momentarily overwhelming her concern.

"Fine by me. I've got her number now!" NegaCrimson said, her mind going over her last face off against the altered Crimson – the failure that had allowed her tron-twisted friend to escape.

She made to leap from the rooftop and swing down to the street, but Techno stopped her vice grip on her arm. It was small, but enough to kept her from running ahead, but also had gave him a moment to think before the action began. There was something they needed to take care of before getting involved.

"No, actually I think there's something else you ought to do…"

* * *

 _Back on the Street,_

Jax slid backwards, only barely making it out of the alley. She didn't dare stand, or make any other sudden movements. "Please Gosalyn. Don't! W-we're friends. Or at least we were. I'm sorry! J-just don't-"

But her attacker just advanced, slowly and methodically, savoring every moment. The "gas gun" – though it looked more like a rocket launcher strapped to a toy pistol – was held lazily at her hip, not being used.

She knew Gosalyn could fire it at any time, but was choosing to play around. The fact that this was _definitely_ not like the girl she remembered losing a friendship with could no longer register in Jax' brain. She was too out of her mind with fear.

"Aww, of course I remember we were friends." The twisted image of her classmate tucked her hand under Jax's chin and smiled, and for a second the fox thought she was being given mercy. But then the smiled kept going, wider and wider, far beyond what could be considered positive or reassuring. "That's exactly why I'm doing this!"

Finally, she raised her weapon. Jax might have seen her life flash before her eyes, but her brain couldn't even go that far. She blanked out, barely able to see the doom in front of her.

The other girl had the audacity to laugh. "Don't blank out, now! We wouldn't want you to forget…" She said, as she slowly squeezed the trigger.

"GET OFF OF HER!" Came a sudden shout. Someone had gotten around them, and kicked the twisted villainess into the street hard enough for her to drop the blaster.

She couldn't believe it! Her friends had finally come! A feathered hand appeared at her shoulder and pulled her to her feet. Jax pulled herself around it and held on like a vice, not caring whose it was.

A few feet away, the faded figure hopped to her feet, looking surprised but not entirely enraged. She caught sight of Jax' savior, and was about to say something when a swooping blur – one Jax recognized, if only vaguely due to her state of shock – dove downward and tackled her off her feet. She joined the blur as they both went flying into the air, over the horizon and out of sight.

Jax shuddered – hyperventilated and babbling – as she desperately tried to come to terms with what just happened. It was over… wasn't it? She could have laughed. She was going to be going home after all!

A rare thank you on her mind, she looked up into the eyes of the one who saved her… and froze. They were the same eyes as the one who had just tried to kill her.

"N-no… " she stammered, staring into the face of Gosalyn Mallard. "That's not… you're not…"

Gosalyn looked at her, surprised. But then understanding crossed her face, as she realized why Jax might be having this reaction. "Are…" she started hesitantly. It was impossible, she knew, but Jax could _swear_ there was something different about the way she talked. Something… contrary. "Are you-"

But then the others arrived, and the moment to talk, to process – or even to explain – disappeared.

"Jax! Are you okay? She nearly killed you!" Mortimer covered Jax in an enormous hug that didn't make her feel any better. She was still unable to look anywhere else except that face. "Thank you so much, Gosalyn. You're amazing!"

Jax had been vaguely aware that Mortimer was one of the many guys who had a thing for Gosalyn back in the day. It was one of the spiteful reasons she had been so adamant in hooking him in the first place. But that seemed so pointless now.

"It… it was my pleasure. I'm glad she's okay." Gosalyn said, also still looking into Jax's terrified eyes. Something registered for both of them, but neither of them could say any more about it. "Let's get out of here." She said abruptly, turning about. She pointed into the distance and gestured for the others to follow. "Come on, this way!" She shouted to spur them on. They didn't need to be told twice. Nobody wanted to be around during a supervillain attack.

"Gosalyn" especially. She could feel still Jax' eyes burning into her back, and they made her want to be away and over this more than any of them.

* * *

 _The Next Block Over,_

Techno carried Crimson as far as he could before she finally broke out of his grip. He didn't want to lose her – not this time - so instead of letting her drop the length of a building he instead went into a dive and intentionally crashed them both hard – but safe - into the ground.

It hurt like the dickens, but it kept her from injuring herself at least. Launchpad would be so proud.

He peeled himself off the pavement like a piece of mashed gum. _Everything_ ached, after an impact like that. But Crimson was tougher than that, he knew.

"Keen gear…" She groaned at his side. As he suspected, by the time he recovered, she was already nearly back on her feet. "Tough move, Honk. Bet _I_ taught you that one."

He winced at the callous use of his real name. Luckily nobody was around to hear it, yet at least, but what was she trying to do? "I… don't know who you're referring to."

"Come on," she winked at him. "You're not fooling anyone."

He glared at her, more than a little surprised. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Just bringing the fun out of you, pal." She replied, intentionally missing his point. "What, you think I hung around the biggest wimp in town for so long just because he could memorize every file in my dad's criminology cabinet?"

That hurt. Like Christine before him, he knew she didn't really mean it. Or rather, that it was something the real Gosalyn would never normally think. But unlike her, it still nailed him right in the insecurities. "You don't mean that."

"Oh? Then why did I say it?" She said, challenging him to go further. He cursed under his breath – she _knew_ how much that stung him. She _always_ knew when something bothered him. "You have no idea how _boring_ this has been. The fake you from the Negaverse is the worst. He's got none of what makes you so... _you._ "

He forced his self-doubt down, and tried to think about what she was saying. "If you want me so bad, come back to me," he said, trying to keep the plead out of his voice.

"No… I have a better idea. Why don't I make _you_ come to _me?"_ She reached for him, trying to aggressively prove her point, but he slipped out of her grip – as alien as it felt. "Come on, Honk! I've even got a cool name picked out. Negatron! Pretty awesome, don't you think?"

His juvenile, still-very-much-a-teenager side had to admit that the name _was_ fairly awesome. Not that any part of him liked the thought regardless. "You have to know I'd never agree to that."

She rolled her eyes. He shuddered involuntarily – once again she acted so _normally._ "You wouldn't exactly have a choice, Honk-Man." She said, in a patronizing sort of way.

"Yes I will, and so do you! Deep down, you know you have that choice!" This was starting to get very sappy – the kind of thing Gosalyn had always snarked at in the movies – but he meant every word. He had to get through to her, however it took. "You can fight this, Gosalyn. I know you don't want to be this way, to do these things to people. Come back to us. Please!"

"C-come back?" She faltered, her voice soft. Techno's heart rose – it shouldn't have, he knew, but it did. All his logic went out the window at the first sign of establishing a connection, so he forgot his better judgment and dropped his guard. He stepped forward, arms wide, almost expecting something in return...

A second later he was on the ground, having received a punch in the gut.

"Oh Honker, my _love."_ She said the word in a dramatic, flowery way, like a joke - another gut punch in itself, and a reminder of how false this version of her really was: Gos had never liked the L word, even as a joke. "You really think it would be that easy?"

Her boot thudded against his ribs. He hacked in dry coughs, skidding across the pavement like a skipped stone. Another crushing impact, and she was stepping on his chest, leaning her weight onto him like a concrete slab on his heart.

"Get it through your thick skull, _Speck!_ " Her falsely sweet tone now became a nasty hiss. "There isn't anything to fight. I'm not at war with myself. I haven't been possessed or taken over. There's no choice to make. _This is who I am now!_ The tron manipulator made me a brand new me, and wouldn't you know I've never been happier!"

Her foot wasn't the only thing that hurt. With a jagged breath, he cursed himself. He was such an _idiot!_ Or, at least, far too led by wishful thinking. But that still didn't mean he had to lose.

"You… you won't always feel that way," he wheezed out, still sticking to his hopeful guns.

"Maybe I won't." She said ambivalently. "Maybe you'll cure me. Or maybe I'll cure _you._ Who cares?"

"I do." He shot back, having officially decided he'd spent too much time underfoot. In a sudden move he activated one of his wrist mounted devices - the fire retardant, though he hadn't really paid attention to which one he was pressing - and let it fire straight up. She yelped as the jet of foam forced her to take a step back, an opportune moment Techno used to wrench himself away and roll away.

He kept rolling until he reached a fair distance (and got a little too dizzy), before risking the hop to his feet. He still wasn't in the best position: she got him good with that kick, and he was still too punch drunk to really fight back yet. But squaring off at distance, even hurt, was a better situation than the one he _had_ been in.

On the downside, he was finally starting to realize that talking this through wasn't going to fix this. The look in her eyes confirmed it – just amused by it all, yet caring about nothing. That hurt worse than any blunt force trauma.

"Ha! Good one, Honk!" She laughed, not angry at all that he literally got out from under her boot. "But I'm not finished. Don't you want to know why I did all this?" She spread her arms wide, as if the entire city were her disaster area. "Why I totaled statues and set fires and beat up oversized brats? Why I'm using your real name in the middle of the street? Why I told Jax a little secret she wasn't supposed to know?"

Troubling as this all already was, it was the last admission that made him gasp as he realized what she must have meant. He tried to convince himself that their decoy ploy with NegaGosalyn should have already dealt with whatever secrets she might have spilled: he couldn't imagine what would happen if it didn't. And he couldn't let himself be distracted by that now – that's exactly what she wanted.

"Ding! Time's up!" Gosalyn said, knocking Honker out of his worries. "It's because I _don't_ care! I don't care about the Gosalyn Mallard you spend all day thinking about. I don't care about her life. I don't care about her secrets. I don't care about _your_ secrets, unless I can use them to have fun!"

She started pacing back and forth. Her demeanor was getting more and more wild, as if talking about this was making her delirious with exhilaration.

"I'd… heh… I'd _love_ it if everyone found out who she was, then realized that she turned into _me!_ Just the _thought!_ Burning down every bridge, except the one I'm currently standing on…" She trailed off, devolving into a string of uncontrollable giggles. She was practically jumping on her feet. In fact, Techno was vividly reminded of the way she had looked whenever a new season of Jumpgate came out, or whenever she got her hands on a game she really liked.

He had always loved seeing her like that before, but now it was… distressing, to say the least. Outright impossible to reconcile.

"But you!" She stepped forward suddenly, jabbing her finger at Techno's head. "But you _do_ care, and that makes me so excited!" She wasn't kidding. By Techno's eyes, she was barely holding it together. "Because I can do things like ruin everyone I ever loved, and you'll hate it. It'll get you all riled up, and then I can finally have some _fun!"_

"So that's what this was all about?" He coughed out incredulously. "Just to prove to us you're not the same Gosalyn any more?"

"Duh! Finally, you get it!" She threw her hands up, feigning exasperation. "And don't forget it, either. Pass it on to my dad, and to that uptight copy of mine. Otherwise I might have to do this _again._ Or… _"_ She scratched her head, as if "distracted" by another thought "… I might do it again anyway, just for kicks. Jury's still out."

Techno didn't say anything. Her just bowed his head, defeated again. Just like last time, he had underestimated the situation – and he _and_ Gosalyn would be paying the price. And she, without even needing to hear him speak, took that despair as if he had shouted "message received" into the sky.

"I think that's enough of a lesson for today, Honk-man," she said. She marched up to him, and he expected another attack, but instead she punched him lightly on the arm like a pal. "But until next time, my precious, make sure you keep that fire inside going. Self confidence, you know! Remember…"

She suddenly leaned in close and whispered directly into his ear, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. "I still don't want anyone else by my side..."

Another sneaky punch came, lightning fast – but this time he was ready. He dodged, and made to use the opportunity to nab her: he had the gadgets for it, certainly, and the reflexes. It wouldn't be so easy to surprise him this time.

But she was ready too, and she wasn't surprised either. As he was reaching for her, restraints already activated, she was pulling out her modified gas gun – the one with the high explosive stuffed into it.

Techno spotted her moving and prepared to dodge again, expecting that she would fire it at him. But instead, she aimed skyward and let the projectile fly off in a random direction.

He froze, realizing her actual plan. There was nobody around _here_ , but there was no telling where the explosive would land. And from what he was seen, it would hurt a lot of people wherever it came down.

While he was distracted, she kicked him away and sprinted down the street, cackling all the way – and for good reason. She and he both knew that with her skills, and with both Darkwing and NegaCrimson occupied, he had no guarantee he could quickly apprehend her _and_ stop the shot. He would have to choose. And in the end, he didn't even watch her go.

Catching the explosive was almost insultingly easy – he suspected it was supposed to be. It didn't go off in his hands when he grabbed it, and it was easy to disarm in motion. Yet no matter how quickly he took care of it, by the time he turned himself around and zoomed for the spot where he left, there was no longer a single trace of her.

He didn't bother looking. He knew she was gone by then. So he just stood there for a long time, able to do nothing else but stare at the last place he saw her. That, and think…

* * *

 _Fearsome Five HQ, Below the Fearsome Dive, Later_

It was dark by the time Rowe shuffled into the lair, still reeling from a few choice blunt traumas. Several members of the Five were already waiting for him – he had been expecting Bushroot and Quackerjack, but Extra was there as well, and Hammerhead Hannigan had even stopped down from the bar.

"Hoo hoo! The conquering hero!" Quackerjack jumped in front of him as soon as he walked through the entrance, not yet noticing the injuries he sported. "Did you get her number… I mean, her support for the Five? It'd seem like a waste if you- holy carp filet!"

He, and the rest of the room, finally got a good look at Rowe's condition. Quackerjack even shrieked a little – though the jester would deny it to his grave.

Bushroot reacted immediately. "Medbay, Hammerhead," he said automatically. Nodding briskly, Hammerhead seized the otter before he could protest and started dragging him towards the meticulously well-groomed room they had to decided would be their medical area when the outside was on the hostile side.

It was sanitary enough, if it weren't for the fact that Bushroot was the doctor. Sure he was the closet thing to an expert on living bodies they had – sort of – but as a mad scientist, his presence was always… less than reassuring. But at least he sanitized the fungus off the medical tools this time.

In fact, given the obvious preparation and the appearance of Hammerhead – "the goat with the vice grip," the world would take to calling him for a few weeks – Rowe was starting to think Bushroot _expected_ him to come home in traction. He couldn't decide if that was appreciated or irritating.

He considered saying something about it, but thought better of it. It was difficult to deny that the fact that he could count on Bushroot and even Quackerjack to know when he was going to screw up – and vice versa – was a good thing. And he had _really_ screwed up this time.

So instead he got comfortable on the "medical cot" (a designer couch that Beakley stole, having supposedly been hers originally before her assets were frozen – the idea was highly amusing), and let the healing begin. As he laid there, Extra walked up to him. She was extra stiff, so he knew what was coming before she said a word.

"I… understand why you thoughts my actions would have been a risk to you," she said curtly, with far less bitterness than he was expecting. Julia Plumis hadn't struck him as a particularly prideful person before, but those things had a way of coming to the surface once the supervillainy kicked in. "But I hope you know that I don't plan on stopping – as I've told the others already, I _will_ get revenge on Glomgold, even without any of your help."

"Knock yourself out, mate," Rowe sighed in what he knew would look like ironic content, though he didn't much care – the "cot" was extra comfortable, and he didn't want team drama to screw up his relaxation. "Just don't bring it down on our heads, and you're golden."

She gave a jerk of a nod, eyes narrowed in what might have been a petulant glare, and strode out of the room. Once she was gone, Quackerjack and Bushroot hopped – literally in Quackerjack's case – over to his bedside.

"Sooo, how'd it go?" Quackerjack teased. "Is she every bit as much a crook as you thought? Will Crimson be 'contestant number three' on The Supervillain Connection?"

"Wrong game, Quackerjack," Bushroot said. "But we're curious nonetheless. I assume it didn't work out." He eyed Rowe's bleeding head wound with nervous concern.

Rowe closed his eyes, thinking, then turned away. "It was a dud, mate. She's just some double from another universe. Not Crimson at all."

He tried to school his face to look more like someone who had just been caught in a stupid mistake, rather than someone who taken a emotional hatched to the jugular. It seemed to work. Bushroot eyed him for a moment, but shrugged, and Quackerjack...

… acted like Quackerjack.

"So you hit on her for nothing, and she ripped you a new one?" He laughed so hard he fell off his feet, then instantly flipped himself into a handstand. "Tell me someone was recording that!"

"No luck, mate!" Rowe chuckled, ignoring his headache. "You'll just have to use your imagination."

"I dunno, I can imagine a lot of pain!"

"We're all aware, Quackerjack…" Bushroot sighed. Then they were _all_ laughing.

The joking, ribbing and eventually reminiscing - "like Bushroot had any room to criticize, didn't he once date a vampire?" Quackerjack joked, earning him a vine to the face – continued for quite a while, and Rowe fake cheer slowly devolved into the real thing. But in the back of his mind, he kept worrying. About _her_ , about Techno and Darkwing, about the whole darn city really.

He was as villain as they came – or at least, he liked to think he was – but he found himself hoping despite it all that the good guys won this one and brought Crimson back to the way she should be, whether she wanted him or not. For all their sakes…

* * *

 _Meanwhile, at the Reasonably Pleasant Inn,_

The entry Gosalyn made into her own makeshift lair was far less haggard – despite being fairly banged up herself. If anything, it was with the swagger of someone who was only going home because she absolutely had to.

She waltzed across the suite like a champion, chortling to herself every other second just thinking about the action she saw that day, She was so charged, she didn't even want to take off her costume until she was well and truly relaxed – so she took a window, rather than the front door.

Granted, she had to force it open. NegaHonker might be getting some extra charges on his bill, but who cared, really? Not her.

She hopped herself down on the couch and slipped off her mask – feeling very good about herself. A few explosions, some busted heads, a nice bit of fear and intimidation, then a chase and battle in the middle of the street? It was like being the baddie in an action flick! She had to have more!

But… she could wait. Too much of a good thing, and all that. There were other wheels in motion here that she was vaguely interested in seeing turn – so she would ride them for a little while.

And speaking of which, not long after she plopped herself down for a good self-gloat did NegaHonker finally return. He came in through the front door – boring, in Gosalyn's opinion – and tossed his disguise into the corner.

He almost looked excited - for him, anyway – which was well worth attention being paid, despite how much he irritated her. She sat up, and he turned sharply – more reacting than surprised. Evidently, he hadn't realized she was there.

A grunt told her that he acknowledged her presence, though it surprised her somewhat. He had to have seen her in her Crimson gear, and knowing his stuffy habits he probably caught the news at some point on the way home. He should've known about her antics all day, but he chose not to comment.

He _did_ , however, make a shot at her in general. "I see you haven't burned our hotel down," he said wryly, with a quick second glance at her uniform.

"Not yet." She shot back,. "I'm starting slow." She smirked. "You might want to take a look at that window by the bathroom."

Already tense and not inside for five minutes yet, NegaHonker strode over to the window in question and silently took in the damage. She actually had to credit his self control. He didn't explode at all.

He didn't even mention it out _loud._ This really was serious. Given the extent to which they hated each other, passing up the opportunity to rant about her behavior was somewhat… concerning. It was really bringing her triumph-high down.

Perhaps his news was more important than he thought.

"Glad to hear you're not _completely_ unruly," he said, a serious look still stuck on his face. "I just made a deal with of a contact I made during the fiasco a few weeks prior. We have a new heading, so we ought to be packed up and out of here before anyone gets wise."

"Aww…" she pretended to be disappointed. "Can I at least wear my uniform to our new best friends' place, since you're the quote-unquote _boss?"_

"Do what you want," he said, gathering up any dangerous or incriminating materials – for his own personal curio collection, of course – and depositing them together. "But be quick about it. There's very little time."

Gosalyn could consider her interest piqued. Which she had to admit was quite a given, given – again – how much she hated every word out of this jerk's mouth.

"Am I to know for whom we're about to be wrecking house?"

"You can stand a little patience, I think." NegaHonker shot back, and for once he was smiling – a ruthless smile she was quite fond of seeing on villains' faces these days, and her own. It meant there was bad times to be had. "But I can promise you it's a group that both of us can really get behind.

Not a bad line. Her excitement was burning. She couldn't wait.

And she was sure somewhere out there, her father and her sidekick couldn't wait either…

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The War on Gosalyn begins with our first look at how things are after the night at the auction, and as promised, it... could be better for our heroes. I know there's a deficiency of Darkwing this time, but he gets his own in the next one.

Not a lot of Duck references, specifically (though comics fans might recognize Mortimer Marquand as a certain classmate-turned-supervillain, and of course **Tad Stone** chatter), but this chapter does bring back several characters from the NADWD continuity whom haven't been seen yet in this fic: the glaring example being Christine, Darkwing's girlfriend, who I admit to my disappointment I just couldn't find a way to include until now. But there should be more of her _and -_ surprise, surprise - Morgana in upcoming chapters, don't you worry.

Also, finally introducing Plumis in her supervillain moniker, Extra. Talk about a character who went far outside her original role: I made her to fill in space on the Fearsome Five, after omitting some villains or another for certain reasons. Then I thought, "what if she had a backstory," and then "what if, since she was a reporter, she reported on important stuff," until finally she was everywhere. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. More villainy to come, you can be sure.

But that's a story for another day - literally! We've seen are heroes driven to the brink by the stress they're under, but not all heroes are in the thick of it. Find out why some heroes are **Ducking Responsibility** , next time on Retake Five!


	11. Ducking Responsibility Pt 1

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where Negaduck has recently nearly taken over St. Canard with a multi-dimensional army, and now after his defeat the world is going through a few changes.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **The War On Gosalyn – Ducking Responsibility Pt. 1  
**

* * *

 _Suburbs of Spoonerville, Midday,_

It was definitely the last place one might expect two superheroes to be walking down the street. And while his companion seemed blissfully unaware of it, Darkwing couldn't help but notice the looks of the people on the road: the paperboy who crashed into a car because he was too busy staring, the people cutting their grass as disapprovingly as possible.

It was awkward. And while in his younger, perhaps less wise days that sort of thing was always amusing, nowadays…

The thought of the crack Gosalyn would make if she were here came into his mind before he could think, and reminded him that he didn't have time for awkward.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I shouldn't even be here." He said to the duck beside him. "There are… things I need to be focusing on."

To his credit, the Masked Mallard actually broke stride. There had been an awful lot of begging involved to get Darkwing to come down here with him, and the kid was practically walking on cloud nine now that it had worked, to be precise. But despite his happy mood, Darkwing could see the compassion in his eyes.

He had to admit, that was part of why he agreed to do this in the first place.

"Yeah, I heard." Darkwing sent him a funny look, and he backtracked. "Well, more like I figured it out. But in any case, I know you have… uh… family issues to take care of. I'm glad you agreed to come."

"It's a good source. Just not a great time." The other part of why he agreed was pure logic. He couldn't argue with the Mallard's hunch this time. "Are you sure he'll talk to us?"

"Knowing him? Probably. He's…" Tbe Mallard's eyes darted to the side, "… an associate of an associate, and I've got a pretty decent take on what he's liable to do. Trust me, he's a stand up guy."

Darkwing just shrugged. He'd known too many "stand up guys" in his time to be so quickly convinced. But they had just reached the house, so they would find out soon regardless. So he said "if you say so," and kept walking. They had just reached the house they wanted, so they would find out soon regardless.

Darkwing took point and headed for the door. He knocked once, twice. A few moments later, the door opened to a rather confused looking dog – a portly fellow, but with a friendly enough face.

He answered without really looking at first. "Yes, I-" He stopped when he saw who was at his door. The Masked Mallard hid a snort. "W-whoa! Darkwing Duck! And… some other guy!" The Mallard's snort died immediately, which only made Darkwing do it instread. "I can't believe…"

The dog stopped himself again. "Sorry, I guess I _can_ believe it. I heard my grandfather's been causing trouble in St. Canard. This was probably inevitable."

"I suppose so." Darkwing extended his hand, which the dog readily took. "We're obviously all aware of each other, but… Peter Pete Jr, right? Though why you're a Jr when Pete's your _grandfather_ …" He muttered the last part under his breath, though he was heard anyway.

Instead of being insulted, the dog just laughed. "Weird, I know. But it's a long story. Let's say my family has a _long_ history and my dad didn't much care for it. I'll tell you all about it – hope you guys like brownies!" He slipped back into the house. His head emerged a second later. "And by the way, everyone calls me PJ."

He slipped off again, simple as that. Darkwing could hear him strolling along on the other side, waiting for them to follow. He was remarkably pleasant, for someone who had just been surprised by a pair of intimidating superheroes. Or at least, Darkwing hoped he was still intimidating at his age.

"Well, that went better than I was expecting," he said.

"Nah, he's that kind of guy. Timid, but he believes in the side of right." The Mallard shrugged, before frowning. "O-or so my contacts tell me, that is. I did enjoy the look on his face when he first saw us, though." He snickered openly, which Darkwing took as a little too immature for comfort – though, to be fair, he'd had the same reaction himself from time to time. "Too bad the rest of your team isn't here. He would've gone ballistic! Where are they, anyway?"

"Someone has to protect St. Canard, especially with Launchpad on a vacation," Darkwing said. The Mallard flashed a look of concern, but Darkwing waved it off. "The city's been quiet ever since the auction, minus a couple… issues. They should be just fine."

* * *

 _Meanwhile, back in St. Canard,  
_

"I don't know what you're using as a litmus, but this is _NOT_ fine!"

Techno had to admit, from where NegaCrimson was sitting, or more accurately hanging, that was a pretty apt assessment. Being stuck onto a wall by a glob of unidentified slime – well, he _had_ identified it, he just didn't tell her what it was for her benefit – was not a fun way to spend an afternoon.

None of the other four women stuck with her – all faces he recognized - seemed to be enjoying it either. Luckily, Techno had so far avoided detection.

"I just meant we have a perfect vantage for figuring out what Frogduck is up to," he replied. In a move far more daring than he expected from the off-kilter villain, Frogduck had viciously ambushed them during a patrol. He disabled Techno with the same slime – they both _really_ ought to get into a shower, pronto - and made off with NegaCrimson.

And _only_ NegaCrimson, which was a little strange. Though "strange" and Frogduck went together like a pack of french flies.

The lily livered villain then hopped off without a fight, and instead gunned his Frogmobile straight for this secret pad. Techno was able to get free of the slime, however, and caught his tail before the trail dried up. Now all that was left was a careful turning of the tables.

Though NegaCrimson didn't quite agree with the cautious approach.

"We can just _ask_ him about it when I'm down from here!" She hissed back, and it might have just been the distortion on the communicator, but she sounded _extremely_ irritated. Idly, Techno wondered if there was a Frogduck in the Negaverse. For his hypothetical sake, he hoped not. "Now forgive me for being rude, but _get your scrawny nerd butt over here and_ -"

She suddenly went quiet, and a second later Techno could see why. Their host had returned. He was dressed like a wizard for some reason, complete with a staff that his "sidekick" – which is to say his pet frog Keith – was perched atop of.

Magica De Spell would have to eat her heart out, if she even still had one.

"I've finally done it!" Frogduck said, in a dramatic, faux sophisticated tone that sounded like something out of a fantasy movie. "By amphlifying the awesome power of the heretofore believed mythical dimension known only as the Frogverse, I bring you all the finest frog-related innovation known to duck!"

He gestured to what looked like an enormous green water pistol. It was attached to a pair of tanks, one filled with the same slime that had already been used on them all, the other with something else Techno couldn't identify.

He continued on, bellowing like a demafrogue giving a speech. "Too long have I been alone! Well… alone with Keith, anyway." He paused to give his "sidekick" a snuggle. "But now I have devised a means of harnessing the amphibious powers of destiny itself, to find the one fated to be _**THE BRIDE OF FROGDUCK!"**_

Thunder rang from somewhere in the distance. Which was odd, because it was sunny today.

Unsurprisingly, the assortment of captured women saw this as ample reason to struggle twice as hard. Which didn't seem to be the reaction Frogduck was hoping for, but he took it in stride.

"… was any of that accurate in the slightest?" NegaCrimson whispered into her communicator, quietly so that Frogduck couldn't hear them talking.

"Doubtful." Techno replied, as he scanned Frogduck's supposed superweapon. "But he _has_ put together a machine that can simulate his mutation. Somehow…"

"Again, how about we ask him how when he's behind bars!" She snarled, a little too loud.

Suddenly, Frogduck was in her face. "Silence!" He shouted, grinning maniacally. "We've got a lot of ground to cover. I wrote, like, ten pages of monologue!" NegaCrimson scowled at him, but said nothing. No use killing their advantage while they had it – she didn't even need to trick him into monologuing.

Techno crept around the base, trying to find a way around to a vulnerable part of the machine. It was an old warehouse full of containers and miscellaneous trash – there was a lot of uneven ground, which he supposed made sense for someone who could leap half a block like it was nothing.

"I chose my candidates carefully!" Frogduck went on. "You, who was part of some of the most fun times of my life!" He pointed at NegaCrimson, who chose not to point out that he was probably thinking of someone else, who had been "part of" attempts to _stop_ him.

He moved onto the next prisoner. It was Dr. Connie Lovell, of Titan Industries. "You, who made me the hoppy soul I am today! I think…" Dr. Lovell looked away. It _had_ been her innovations that accidentally turned athlete Keith Gideon into an insane frog mutant, though it was hardly something she was proud of.

The next prisoner was a surprise. It was Christine Merriweather. "You, whose son I accidentally kidnapped once! Hi!"

Christine strained against the slime, but only sunk deeper. "Can we take a raincheck? I can't pencil in any slime secretions today…"

"Then you're in luck!" Frogduck said cheerfully. "It's not slime, it's mucus!"

"Secreting slime _is_ muc-"

Frogduck hopped past her. "And finally you! Who… was walking down the street with her." The last prisoner, Morgana MacCawber herself, was highly unamused. Techno winced – they had asked her to house Christine and Charlie, who was safe at school for now – for the time being, until the current situation died down. She was unlikely to be happy about having supervillains barge back into her life within the first week.

He remembered that being bound made her magic a lot less accessible, which would explain why she wasn't turning Frogduck into a duckless frog. That slime seemed pretty confining. And in a surprising turn of foresight for their usually incoherent foe, he even made sure to gag her to prevent any verbal magic. Either he was learning, or his brain was having an extremely good day.

"But Keith tells me you once used his cousin Slippy's eyes in a potion," Frogduck went on. "So nyah!" He stuck out his tongue at her, and – completely by accident – nearly knocked her hair askew.

Morgana's eyes bulged furiously. Techno thought he might reconsider the idea that Frogduck was getting smarter…

Then suddenly he jumped away from them and landed at the gun's controls. Techno needed to hurry. At the nervous looks on his captive's faces, Frogduck smiled with what he probably thought was a reassuring vibe.

"Don't worry, it's kind of like a spa!" He said. "You've got a nice soak of Slime #1! Once you get hit with Slime #2, the process will begin. And then once you're nice and green, we can do the dating game! It'll be a night you'll never forget!"

"There!" NegaCrimson hissed. "You've got your info, now move!"

"On it." Techno had swept around behind the machine while Frogduck was talking. He only had to slip up onto it and sabotage it, and they would be home free.

Or so he intended, until he stepped on an uneven assortment of trash and discarded bug wrappers. That might have been loud enough, but they also made a suspiciously loud popping noise on contact. Almost like it was placed there on purpose…

Unfortunately, it wasn't just a passing suspicion. Frogduck whipped around, and Techno just sighed. He had frogotten how sharp the goofy villain could be.

"An intruder!" Frogduck waved his staff, sending Keith flying. "Attack, my toadies!"

Techno blinked. His scan hadn't detected any henchmen in the area. "Toadies? What are you-

That's when a container opened up from above him and dropped about two hundred pounds of live frogs on his head. As he was steadily buried under the delightful frogrance that only dozens upon dozens of amphibians can create, Techno was finally forced to agree: things were toadally not fine…

Or in his words: "aaaaauuughh!"

Hopefully he could leave this part out of the report…

* * *

 _Meanwhile, Back at PJ's house and_ not _covered in frogs,_

The brownies were delicious, Darkwing had to admit. Though it was the Masked Mallard who was enthusiastic enough to say so out loud.

"Gosh, thanks," PJ replied, flustering a bit. The plate before them was stacked high, but it was half as tall as it had been when they first sat down. "Just a hobby of mine. It's not going to start paying the bills, I'd bet."

"I suppose not," Darkwing said absently. He looked around at the living room: discarded posters and support signs were littered everywhere, as if the house was being used to store a surplus. "You're in politics?"

PJ shrugged. "Just the assistant campaign manager. But I've got a lot of input. Thanks to me, North Spoonerville's next city councilman will be running the most honest campaign there is!"

"Honest, huh?" Darkwing said. "Well that's atypical, given…"

"… given my family history?" PJ smiled. "No, I don't mind you saying so, thanks for asking." It was a very sarcastic thing to say, but PJ said it with such friendliness that it seemed genuine… which, from what Darkwing could tell, was a defining thing for this man.

PJ looked away, staring at the contours of the room. One of them, with the phrase "THE FAIR CANDIDATE!" caught his attention. "I guess…" he started uneasily. "I guess making up for my family's dirty laundry is something that drives me. We've… well… the Petes haven't always been on the up and up."

"No kidding. I've got the stab wounds to prove that."

Again, PJ just smiled. "My father was decent when he wanted to be, but was a selfish con man who pushed everyone away the first chance he got if he couldn't control them. My mom left before I even left high school, though I guess they're still off and on at times. My sister talks to him still, but there's still some strain there. I'm the only one who still sees him as often as I do, and even I always thought, 'meh, he's just a jerk.'"

The Masked Mallard tensed. An uncomfortable look crossed his face. "So, what changed?"

"Nothing, really." PJ said. "He's still a jerk. But he's my dad. And now that he's up there in years, he's willing to tell me things he kept from me and my sister. Now I know where he got it from."

If anything, the Mallard tensed even more – but for an entirely different reason. "Pegleg Pete."

PJ nodded. He walked to a nearby bookshelf and pulled out a textbook, well worn and bereft of dust. He opened it to a bookmarked page, which featured a black and white picture of a band of early 20th century mobsters. There, clearly, in the back row was a young Pegleg Pete – though the caption labeled him as "Bootleg Pete."

"My grandfather is old." PJ added. "Like, _really_ old. He was old when I was a kid. And it's not like I'm past my prime, but I'm definitely not a kid any more." He smiled wistfully, though the look didn't last. "Even when _my_ dad was a kid, Grandpa Pete had been doing what he was doing for decades."

Darkwing chuckled. "Pretty spry for someone his age. What's his secret?" He faked a tired stretch, ever the ham. "I'm asking for a friend, of course."

The laugh was contagious, because both PJ and the Mallard joined in. "Depends on who you ask, I suppose." PJ smirked. "The way you hear some say it, he's got an endless army of cousins and little brothers who take his place every few years! Some other folks said he stole some water from Fountain of Youth and has been cursed ever since."

"Nah. That can't be it." The Mallard said automatically. "The Fountain doesn't work that way." Both Darkwing and PJ stared at him, causing him to flush and look away.

But rather than pry, PJ waved it off. "Even if it did, I prefer my dad's explanation for what keeps grandpa going: _spite!_ Pure, unadulterated selfishness!"

He pulled the bookmark out of the textbook: like the page itself, the mark had a photo on it. This was of a older looking Pete, with a young child that was almost his spitting image. "Like I said, when my dad was a kid Grandpa Pete was already neck deep in everything from pirating to mercenary work to repeat jaywalking. He was wanted in about a dozen countries worldwide – though that number has since gone way up – and had more aliases than a quadruple agent. But he didn't tell his family about any of it. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too."

He rolled his eyes as he thought ahead a bit. "The way you hear my dad tell it, he was a little angel unwittingly growing up in the arm of a monster. But I know my dad. He was probably a spoiled brat - the consequence of his upbringing. I saw that more and more as I grew up. He wasn't perfect – no way, sir – but compared to what he came from?"

The eyeroll and distaste turned into a glimmer of pride, albeit weary and strained. "And somehow, my dad knew enough right and wrong to realize what his father was doing and say he wanted no part of it. Kind of like what I did when I went out on my own."

"My grandfather is a monster, pure and simple. There's no crime he won't commit. My father always had _some_ standards. And eventually he just up and left. And I mean, _really_ left. He changed our last name – he still won't tell me what it was before. His mom was a dog, and he looked it, so he just pretended that's the way he was."

The Mallard scratched the back of his head. "I'd always wondered about that…" He said under his breath. PJ didn't seem to hear him – too busy reminiscing - but Darkwing eyed him curiously.

PJ was reaching the end of the history lesson regardless. "So then he married my mom and screwed it up, but me and my sister came along anyway. And he named _me_ Pete Junior. As if _he_ was the first guy in our family to go by that name. That was the way he was, y'know: _he_ was Pete, better than his father. Not that Grandpa cared."

All in all, while that story may have been of interest to some, Darkwing had found it all rather boring. But at that hint of more, he finally perked up. "You've had contact with Pegleg Pete before?" He prodded.

"Grandpa visited, sometimes. Despite everything my dad did, he never had a problem finding us." He grimaced, but Darkwing noticed it wasn't with any fear. Just irritation. "My father hated him, but he showed up anyway. He crashed on our couch and made nasty comments to my mother, and my father would mumble under his breath about knocking the stuffing out of him, until Grandpa would dare him to. It was all really awful, looking back on it."

"But…" he paused, unsure how to field what he was about to say. "For what little decency he has, Grandpa never tried to involve us in his business. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if he knew you were here today."

Darkwing and the Masked Mallard shared an alarmed look. "… and you're not concerned about that?" Darkwing said, concerned.

"I've cooperated with the cops about Grandpa before." PJ said simply. "It's why he never visits, but at the same time _he never visits._ And I'm grateful for that."

"So…" Darkwing frowned. "What I'm taking from here is that you can't actually tell us much." The natural impatience creeped into his voice again – there were so many other things worth doing…

"If you want insider information about whatever he has going on, nope. I'm an honest guy, in case you haven't noticed." There was an actual hint of annoyance in his voice this time – the implication inherent in the interrogation was obviously a sore subject – but again his nature pushed it away. Still, Darkwing took it as a cue to keep some of his own irritation away from the conversation.

PJ shut the book and gently placed it on the endtable. "But do you want my tip, just from knowing him as a person?"

Darkwing leaned forward. It was better than nothing.

"Whatever's going on, he's not the biggest threat. At his age, and with all he's done, Grandpa barely ever does anything for himself any more – and if he does, he's not doing it too far outside Mouseton. Nowadays, prefers to go along with others' shows and take a payday for it. So you want to figure out who he's working for and what _they_ want."

This seemed rather logical to Darkwing, but the Masked Mallard groaned heavily. "It never occurred to me that Pete might not be in charge. Of course! He wasn't any of the other times…"

Darkwing shook his head. Again, the Mallard said too much – anyone with all the pieces might make a few key conclusions, though luckily PJ didn't seem to be one of those people. Or more likely, wasn't interested in making them.

He _was_ interested in getting this information out, however. This, especially, seemed to spark up his intensity. "My other tip, way more important, is if he _does_ know you're here – and with the tabs he keeps on us, I would definitely assume he does – you can bet he's going to use it to his advantage." He grabbed the plate and lifted it to their faces. "I'd take these brownies to go, if I were you."

"Trying to get rid of us?" Darkwing said wryly.

"Nah, come any time. I'll invite my buddy Max over. He _loves_ superheroes – he'll never believe I met you guys!"

"Ohoho!" The Mallard chortled. "I can imagine."

"Here!" PJ placed the plate in the Mallard arms and pushed them towards the front door. As the door closed behind them, he was still nervously babbling behind them. "You can give it back to me next time. But for now, good luck. I'll bet you've got some craziness coming…"

And that, evidently, was that.

By the time they reentered the Thunderquack, the Masked Mallard had already started going to town on the brownies. Sensing that they would be gone within a few minutes, he made sure to grab one more for himself and a handful for Launchpad, then situated himself at the controls.

He wasn't as deft a pilot as Launchpad – landings aside – but that's what the autopilot was for. Granted, it's programming _was_ overseen by Launchpad himself - now that was a trying few weeks - and if they _did_ crash regardless his sidekick would never let him hear the end of it.

He tried not to think about that, though. There were a few more important things to bring up, while he had the time. "That went well," he said once they were safely in the air.

"I figured it would." The Mallard replied, talking with his mouth full of pastry. Darkwing tried not to scowl. "Good to see he's doing alright… you know, given his family history."

"Just make sure you get that plate back to him in a timely manner, Louie." He glanced pointedly at his companion. "It looks expensive."

"Yeah, I'll just swing by and sneak it onto his-" The Mallard choked suddenly as what Darkwing just said sunk in, spraying bits of brownie all over the console. This time, Darkwing really did scowl. "Hey, wait. What're you… I mean..." He took a hilariously different voice – much deeper and dramatic, as if it would help. "I don't know who it is you're referring to."

This was just sad to watch. But this wasn't the first kind in a mask he'd had to give talks like this to.

"Sure you don't," he jeered. "With all the personal anecdotes and hints you were dropping during that conversation, I'm surprised PJ didn't call it out halfway through. It was more than obvious you knew him personally." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "But then, it's actually sometimes _easier_ to hide the secret identity from people you know personally. They don't expect it."

"I…" The Mallard sighed, deflating. "D-don't you need to check in with your team?"

"They can wait."

* * *

 _Meanwhile...  
_

"No, this absolutely _cannot_ wait!"

Techno considered himself a very even-tempered young man. He rarely lost his temper, and anger with him was typically expressed via passive aggressive sarcasm or pointed criticisms. But, this… this was getting the point where he might just pull his feathers out!

If he had any feathers left by then…

He looked down at his ungloved hand, which had almost completely been overtaken by green, leathery skin. It was getting worse. They needed a cure _now!_

But of course, the person who could've most easily helped them had to be colossal pain in the rear.

"And I ssssay it can!" Camille the Chameleon shot back. They had with great difficulty gotten her to Darkwing Tower – into the lab deep inside, to be precise, away from any windows with identifying views, and where Techno was _hoping_ to be hard at work. "You sssupposed heroes have the nerve to kidnap me, blindfold me, and take me to sssome random gulag, and then exsspect me drain me like a vampire!"

"It's not a gulag!" Techno huffed. "I mean… we have a brig… but…" The brig was currently occupied by one irritating duck-frog hybrid, being watched by one extremely irritated witch, and would stay that way until the crisis passed. But Camille probably didn't need to know all of that.

"And we didn't kidnap you!" NegaCrimson snapped. She was sitting on a table, being attended to by Christine – whose presence was thankfully explainable as her being another hapless, infected civilian caught up in the madness and trying to make herself useful. Given the increasingly visible changes affecting them all, it wasn't a hard reality to sell: Dr. Lovell was also present, sharing notes with Techno about their condition, and in the three of them the affliction was much farther along than his own. Large parts of them were looking _very_ froglike. "You agreed to come. It was this or jail, remember? So deal with it."

"You ssshould have let me rob that bank asss a professssional courtesssy!" Camille snapped. "Plusss, you didn't sssay anything about a blindfold or any of thisss! Why ssshould I help you cure yourssselves, anyway?" She eyed NegaCrimson's green patches with clear amusement. "I think you look better thisss way!"

"Enough!" Techno said, more sternly than more were used to from him. "Thanks to Frogduck's shoddy craftsmanship, he's caused mutagens to explode into the weather system! They're already seeding throughout the entire city! It's not just us who are in jeopardy. It's the whole city! Including _your_ friends."

Unsurprisingly, this didn't seem to sway her in the slightest. Though in the interest of being fair, Techno blamed himself for even expecting it to.

"Well," Camille said, with complete disdain. 'If it's sssuch a big deal, maybe you ssshould get that tv ssscientist - Von Drake - to help you."

Techno blinked. "What? Why?"

"Because he'sss a tad Polish."

Camille laughed hysterically. Meanwhile, Techno _heavily_ suppressed a growl. "That's not funny."

"I sssay it is," Camille said, still guffawing.

"Isn't he Eastern European?" NegaCrimson said, with an odd amount of curiosity. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. "You know, Croakatian!"

Camille's laughter doubled in volume, and if that wasn't enough, both NegaCrimson and Christine started cracking up as well.

" _ **He's German!"**_ Techno snapped, not that it helped. NegaCrimson was completely overtaken with laughter, rolling off the table and landing on the floor with a thud and a giggle.

All of which was _unsettlingly_ silly for NegaGosalyn. _Maybe_ his Gosalyn would have made that joke, once the stakes weren't so high. But NegaCrimson? Even her _chuckling_ at something like that was concerning. So was Christine losing her composure in a tense medical situation. The mutation was starting to affect their minds.

Not good. Not good at all. How was Morgana doing, outside? When would it spread to him? How long before everyone in the city was as hopping mad as Frogduck?

"I ssstill sssay it doesn't matter," Camille said, entirely amphivalent. "Ssso this city full of posersss goesss green. Ssso what? Even if the ssstuff affects me, I can change my ssshape. Meanwhile, the phony villainsss, phony sssheep, and especially phony heroesss can learn what it'sss like to be me! I'm not ssseeing a downssside."

Techno frowned, realizing that he was letting his tension - maybe at more than just the current crisis - get the better of him. A very long time ago, Camille had once said something very similar to him. She had no idea he was the same person, but he had no interest in _actually_ being a phony hero. And that meant playing this smart.

"Well for one, you're proud of being a chameleon, aren't you?"

She eyed him, reptile eyes narrowed and unsure of where he was going. He didn't leave her waiting. "It's just, you do know that if this affects you, your base form will be all frog. And you'll be just as stark ribbiting mad as the rest of us. Are you sure you want to be an insane shapeshifter? Who knows what you might turn yourself into. A rat? A toilet seat? A _stockbroker?"_

That did it. Camille finally looked unsettled. But, unfortunately, not convinced. "Who knowsss what I might become in the future. But if you think you can manipulate me, I can ssshow you what I plan to ssshift into _right now!"_

In an instant, Camille disappeared. Techno leaped to his feet, visored eyes flying around the room searching for something – anything. After a moment, his sensors caught the trail of a seemingly ordinary housefly, drifting towards the vents.

"No! NO!" He shouted. He mashed his hands across every relevant button his suit had. "Lockdown, lockdown! Lock it all down _now!_ "

Christine was leaning against NegaCrimson's former table, still laughing incessantly. "Ha ha! She ssshowed you!"

NegaCrimson popped to her feet. At least she was still fighting it, even if it was becoming a losing battle. "Showed who? And where did she go? Don't tell me you lost her!"

Techno groaned, not for the first or the last time. At least – judging by the slams echoing through the tower – the lockdown was working, and did so before Camille got to the main room. Their secret was safe, for now.

But while it would make a very ribbiting tale one day, this was still shaping up to be a very _, very_ long afternoon…

* * *

 _With Darkwing and the Masked Mallard,_

"Okay," the Mallard said, finally resigned to both his evident screw ups and the fact that he would now be forced to talk about them. "So I really need to work on keeping my personal anecdotes out of my speech. Got it."

"You should at least not be so obvious. Screwing up from time to time is going to happen.' Darkwing said, half reassuring, half sardonic. "But _maybe_ not let it on that you're in on the occasional inside joke."

A grim nod in response. "Is that how you figured it out?"

Darkwing pulled into a smirk. "Me? Nah," he said. "I had already suspected something along those lines for a while, but I knew for sure when you suggested PJ in the first place. You think I couldn't do a little research and find out that Peter Pete Jr. was an associate of Max Goof, son of George "Goofy" Goof, who is friends with one Donald Duck? You reacting to the mention of Max during the conversation was just the icing on the cake."

The Masked Mallard stared blankly at him, his face the picture of disbelief. Darkwing put his hands behind his head and took a moment to bask in his own brilliance for. "Yep yep yep, you can't put one over on ol' Darkwing Duck."

Unfortunately, with his hands off the controls this little bit of gloating put them on course straight into ground, and he had to cut it short and veer up before irony smashed them both into little pieces.

Once they weren't about to die any more, the Masked Mallard timidly tried to deal with his new normal. "Okay, yeah. It's me, Louie Duck. Hi."

"I know that already."

The Mallard – Louie – flinched. "S-so, what happens now?"

"Now you tell your family where you've been, because you haven't been keeping contact like you promised and they've been worried sick. Your Uncle – yes, the very same one you're working out some problems with," Darkwing added when he saw the Mallard's flinch become a full fledged stiffen, "nearly hired me to track you down. He was willing to pay a legitimately huge sum, too – at least, huge for him. I knew I should've taken him up on that…"

"I… I can't." The Mallard stammered, looking away. "N-not yet."

The sheer annoyance at the entire situation he was in started to rise up Darkwing's throat. As a father who was dealing with the pain of a daughter estranged from him against her will, his patience for Louie – who was galavanting around by choice – was paper thin.

But just as he was about to yell, he looked at the boy sitting next to him and… stopped. The parent in him knew the despondent look on his face, and knew it would do no good to make a fight out of it. But he _could_ help deal with it.

"Okay fine. You need to tell them _something_ , but I'll respect your wishes for now. But unless you want to be booted out of this plane right now, I at least need to know how you ended up in that crazy getup."

The Mallard looked down at his Scarlet Pumpernickel-styled uniform, then over at Darkwing's garish ensemble with a childish look. "My getup is crazy? Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"I'm _vintage!"_ Darkwing protested, "and you're getting away from the point."

Louie took a deep breath, and stared into space for a long moment. "… fine. I'll tell you," he said, begrudgingly. "But it's a crazy story."

Darkwing almost laughed. Crazy? He doubted it. "Try me."

"Okay. So you already know that I set off from Duckburg in with Uncle Panchito, in a ship due for Mexico…"

* * *

 _Several months previously, on the open seas outside Duckburg,_

The small trailer drifted lazily through the sea, but with purpose – it's Captain being clear about where he wanted to go, but not in any real hurry to get there.

Louie had spent the whole trip so far rooted to the same spot he stood in when leaving the Duckburg docks. He leaned against the railing a little more, perhaps. But that was more because his thoughts were weighing him down so much.

He scoffed at the thought. He was becoming poignant in his solitude. He could imagine what his Huey and Dewey would say if they could read his mind. In fact, he thought a lot about what his brothers would do in the hours since he left them behind.

Dewey would've probably gotten a hint of seasickness by now, and tried to play it off by saying he ate something bad – like one of their Uncle Donald's limburger and pickled meat sandwiches or something. Huey would groan, but then help him through it under the guise of criticizing him, going through everything he should have done to fix it by now. And Louie would sit by and laugh, offering a lighthearted comment here and there…

But instead he had the sea. He had no idea how anything could be so beautiful, and yet so dull. He didn't know what he was thinking: it was like watching Daisy's nieces livestream! – not that he would ever tell them that.

At least the company was nice, though, even if it wasn't his brothers. He could hear Panchito coming before the rooster even made himself known, humming and laughing to himself. Louie hadn't ever been a depressing kid or anything, but even he had no idea how anyone could be so happy all the time. Or how someone so jolly could've become so close with their infamously grumpy Uncle.

"Hola, mi sobrino!" Panchito called as he came near. "Enjoying the ocean? I find it far less interesting than the open range, but it has its secrets."

"Well, I hope you're going to show me a few of them," Louie said, with a lot of good-natured sarcasm. There was no real whine in his voice, just the harmless barbs of someone making fun. "So far, we've been out for half a day and we haven't even had one adventure. Maybe Uncle Donald was exaggerating in his old stories..."

"Ho ho!" Panchito plopped himself on the railing beside Louie, his eyes twinkling. "There's plenty of time for that, my boy!"

"You sure we can wait?" He gestured to the door to the ship's hold, though the ship's slow pace is what was really on his mind. "What're you hauling down there anyway, 'Captain?'"

The teasing smirk on his face was the kind only reserved for family. Panchito returned it with another booming laugh.

"Nothing so fantastic, nino. This here boat lugs the oldest boom trade there is! Spices! The finest in Jalisco!" He puffed out his chest. "I grow 'em on my farm, sell 'em for a mint here in Duckburg, and bring the equipment and such I need back to Mexico! And lots of time for adventure along the way!"

Louie stared back into the water. "I could use a little of that."

"And you'll have it, don't you worry. But first, we talk."

The flinch that followed made Panchito laugh again, but Louie didn't find it so funny.

Of course. Panchito may have been the most rough and tumble he knew, and may have only been an honorary part of the family, but he was still technically Louie's Uncle. Obviously he wouldn't just let him adventure his troubles away without some kind of talk involved.

"Do we have to?" He whined.

Panchito shook his head. "Now, now. None of that. Your Uncle Donald would kill me if I didn't at least _try_ the old 'work it out with words' approach." His air quotes around the phrase were so exaggerated Louie almost laughed.

Which was probably the point. Clever.

So instead, he snorted dismissively. "He should talk."

"He should!' Panchito replied, without missing a beat. "'Practica lo que predicas,' I always say. But that doesn't mean he's wrong."

Logical speaking was more Dewey's thing, but Louie could tell there was no use trying to play this off. They were on a boat at sea, just the two of them and a horse. He was getting this lecture, or whatever it was, eventually. Might as well do it now.

"Do I at least have to give the play by play?" He said. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"That's alright," Panchito waved it off. "I know all about it." Louie stared at him, prompting him to keep going. "Oh, well, your Uncle Donald already knew about Scrooge's secret, something about living through a zombie attack. And after you reached out to me, he told me about it. I, as you say, connected the dots."

Louie groaned. He knew Uncle Scrooge was aware of this, but he had hoped it wouldn't become the whole family's business. Especially not Uncle Donald. He was so going to hear about this later. "Wait, how did he know I called you?"

"He didn't. _I_ called _him."_

Louie gaped, feeling betrayed. "You _what?_ Why!?"

For once, Panchito looked serious. Louie's hurt look had zero affect on him. "I am many wild and – I must admit – occasionally irritating things, my boy, but a poor friend and a lousy uncle I am not."

Louie threw his head into his arms, exasperated. "So I suspect you want me to forgive Uncle Scrooge and go back to the way things were, huh?" He said, talking muffled through his sleeve. "Are we about to turn this boat around?"

"Not if you don't want to. Forgiveness will come in time."

"And what if it doesn't?" Louie scoffed.

"It will," Panchito replied, not even taking the idea seriously. Louie frowned at him, but he ignored that too. "There is too much love there for it not to. Take my family." Where Louie looked into the water, he looked to the skies. "You'll find scoundrels and banditos among the saints and the angels, but they always come together in the end."

"Did any of them do anything so horrible they thought they had to hide it away from everyone for the rest of their entire lives?" Louie said, a sharp edge entering his voice.

"When my Uncle Junipero was eaten by cannibals they gave him an _awful_ review online. Does that count?"

Louie gave Panchito a flat look. But as usual, he only laughed in the face of it.

"Just like your Uncle. I'm _kidding_ , little hombre." Louie rolled his eyes, prompting more embarrassment as Panchito's laughter increased, until finally he wiped a tear from his eye and kept going. "But to be serious, your anger is just in the way right now. But forgiveness doesn't have to come today."

Suddenly, his expression turned severe, so much so that Louie dropped his annoyed look in surprise, and a bit of nervousness. "And I'll admit, running innocent folk off their land – just for a peso or two - is a terrible thing! Your Uncle may have grown into a kinda sorta good man now, but the years of guilt he gave himself is well deserved, and I say he could do with a little more."

Louie stared at him. So, Panchito was both on his side and _not_ on his side. Maybe this trip was a good idea after all… if a bit confusing.

"So…" Louie said slowly. "That's not what you wanted to talk about?"

"It's not what is currently making you miserable, so no."

It suddenly occurred to Louie that nobody ever gave his Uncle Panchito credit for being perceptive, at least about people. He stared expectantly at the young duck, and something told Louie he already knew what he was about to hear.

"Yeah… okay," Louie said softly. "It's not just that I blew up on Uncle Scrooge. I mean, I did do that. I blew up royal. But…" He paused. Panchito waited patiently for him to continue. "… I… I even fought with my brothers. It was a big one. It was probably coming anyway, we all knew it, but… it still hurts."

"As it should. Your brothers and you don't just share blood. You complete each other, even when you fight." Louie blushed a little at this. Not that that would ever stop Panchito from being dramatic. "You are Caballeros!"

Louie vaguely remembered that name as the thing his Uncle Donald and his friends called themselves, and suspected a reminiscence was incoming.

"Like me, Jose and your Uncle!"

Got it in one. Louie tried not to smirk.

"Look at me!" Panchito said exuberantly. "I… well… I'm a little on the impulsive side. One might even say a little crazy, at times!" For emphasis, a goofy smile spread across his face. "Jose, he is creative but he can be naïve – even more than me! And Donald…"

Louie chuckled. "He's Uncle D."

Panchito smiled fondly. That was all the description either of them needed. "Yes, he is. And the three of us each have our own way of doing things. So sometimes, we would fight. Sometimes, we would fight _big!_ Nasty things could be said. You wouldn't believe…"

He and Louie shared a look.

"Then again, maybe you do." He chuckled. "But the point is, we never stayed separate for long. Staying angry was just too painful to let lie. We had to come together to feel better, and it was always welcome no matter how furious we were."

Louie gave an obligatory groan, but he had to hear the advice all the same. "So you're saying that I don't have to make up with Uncle Scrooge just yet-"

"- though you should think about it-"

"… though I should think about it," Louie repeated. "But…" he sighed. "What I _really_ have to do first is talk to my-"

 _CRASH!_

Something huge and heavy slammed into the side of the boat. Fell back from the railing, losing his balance. He looked up, and realized they had been there talking for a long time. The skies were no longer clear. In fact, they were looking very troubling.

"Quackaroonie, what was that?!" He shouted from the deck. He hopped back to his feet as quick as he could, and couldn't help but notice that the sea was rocking the boat a lot more than it used to.

Panchito had, of course, kept his feet the whole time. "A mine! A torpedo! A sea monster!" He reached for a nearest tool he could – a shovel in this case, which was an odd thing to have on board a boat – and brandished it like a weapon.

Louie couldn't blame him. Those were all things Louie had had the misfortune of dealing with before, and none of them sounded like any fun to revisit. But this didn't seem like one of them. There was something in the air… a feeling?

No, a breathing!

"No, wait!" He shouted. "It sounds like…"

They both peered over the edge, for a glimpse of their crisis. And there, down below, they found a cracked and broken lifeboat. On board, was a cracked and broken man, a bear to be precise, lying prone in a literally sinking ship.

"A person!" They said together.

Panchito nearly lost his hat. "Ay caramaba!"

Despite the situation, Louie had to ask… "Wait, what does that mean?"

"Oh, yes! I don't know…"

They got the poor soul on board their ship as fast as they could, but it was a very near thing. Even when they got him settled, he looked bad. He was aged, and not just old. There was something pallid and weak about him, as if sickened. His fur was thin, and his skin was pale. But there was something determined in his eyes, even if his body seemed to be failing him.

The bear wheezed for quite a long time before they could get any words out of him, but they were patient. Panchito had a seemingly endless supply of lemonade on board ("you want I should get scurvy?") which seemed to give him some of his strength back, until finally the bear could breathe with at least some ease, and respond without difficulty.

"Son of a gun!" Panchito said, once they were sure he was doing well enough. "You nearly had the final dive there, friend!"

"I… I still might," the bear said, still weak.

"Nonsense!" Panchito said enthusiastically - as if he had any other way to say anything. But Louie, for the matter, nodded just as strongly. "You are in good hands, amigo! You will make it out of here with nothing more than a chronic cough or two."

"My health is a bit worse than that, unfortunately. But the situation is worse still." The bear replied gravely, breathing in ragged hisses. He tried to stand, but Panchito gently held him back. "Let me go!" He snapped. "I have to get out of here, you don't understa-"

His words were cut off by another coughing fit, which helped Panchito get him back to his seat. Meanwhile, Louie tried to get him talking – it sounded like he'd had a terrible experience, and they needed to make sure it hadn't left him confused or traumatized.

"Are you okay?" He asked, crouching down to the bear's level. "Do you know your name?"

The bear made another failed attempt to stand, before finally giving him. He closed his eyes, evidently resigning himself to his current situation. "The name's Kit. Kit Cloudkicker."

* * *

 _Present day, back at the Thunderquack,_

The story came to screeching halt as Darkwing nearly flew them both into a terrified suburbanite's pool for sheer shock.

"Wait, Kit Cloudkicker's _alive?"_

"Oh, yeah..." the Masked Mallard said, as casually as if he hadn't just plummeted into the ground. Then again, he knew Launchpad as well as Darkwing did, so he was probably used to it. "He mentioned he knew you. Later, I mean."

"Why didn't you tell us?!" Darkwing demanded, pulling the plane back on course with a noticeable huff in his voice. "Crimson will… well…" he stopped himself, wincing with a very non-physical pain. "…once we get her back, she'll want to know."

The Mallard shrug. "Part of it is just that there was just so much going on. We never got the chance." He shot Darkwing an annoyed glance. "And I'm _getting to_ why that is!"

"Fine… fine…"

* * *

 _Back in the Flashback,_

Realizing by now that he couldn't get these good Samaritans to stop doting over him, Kit instead tried a different tactic: portents of doom.

"We have to get out of here!" He said harshly, throwing Panchito a glare when he preemptively tried to keep him in his seat. "We need to get out of open water, _right now!"_

Panchito and Louie looked at each other, alarmed. "What's the hurry, my friend?" Panchito said, still friendly but with a hint of concern. Both of them had learned a long time ago never to ignore a warning given _that_ desperately.

"There are people after me," Kit explained. "People you don't want to meet."

"Well, I'd like to know who it is I don't want to meet before I don't meet them!" There was a moment of silence as everyone other than Panchito parsed through that sentence.

"Trust me, they're bad news!" Kit said frantically. "You don't want to fight, you want to run."

Thunder echoed through the air now, with alarming frequency. Louie idly wondered if maybe someone other than Panchito's horse ought to be steering the ship, but the captain seemed distracted.

"Meh!" He crowed. "I eat bad news for breakfast! With a side order of juiced catastrophe!"

"Listen to me-"

"Hey!" Louie said, suddenly. The other two turned to look at him, but he was looking up. "Whoever they are, are they the ones casting that ominous looking shadow?"

The flush draining Kit's face as he matched Louie's gaze said it all. The skies were now full of thunderous clouds, but in the center – just above their ship – those clouds darkened with a dark shape. Something enormous.

"It's them…" Kit gasped.

Panchito looked like he was about to demand an explanation again, and Louie felt just about ready to join him. But before either of them could do so, the world erupted with the sound of laughter, broadcast from above.

It was deep, raspy, and very nasty. What's more, it sounded… vaguely familiar.

"It's _him!"_ Kit said, sounding even more anxious than before.

Panchito pulled his hat down over his eyes, half stressed, half afraid – both emotions Louie didn't like hearing from him. _"Him, who?"_ He screeched, finally at his wits end.

The laughing voice answered on its own.

" _ **So, Cloudkicker! You got yerself outta the drink. And you found a little savior! Ain't dat sweet!"**_

Now Louie _definitely_ knew he had heard that voice before. It had been a long time, but it was enough to know it was seriously bad news.

Panchito, evidently, knew the same thing. "Oh, _him,"_ he groaned, sounding no less

Kit looked back and forth at the both of them as if seeing them for the first time. Evidently, he had not been expecting familiarity. "Wait, who _are_ you tw-"

" _ **Too bad they knows too much, now!"**_ The voice, belonging to none other than Pete, continued on. _**"Dat's on you, old man! I guess we'll just have'ta wipe 'em out too!"**_

Louie gulped. That was, obviously, not reassuring.

"I think you are right, amigo!" Panchito said, jumping into action – perhaps a little too late. "It is time to go!" He pointed at Louie, his eyes wide with concern. "Get into the hold, sobrino! He will try to ransom you for sure! Which, while fun in regular circumstances…"

His frantic tone left no room for disagreement, at least in normal circumstances. But Louie was a proud member of the most argumentative trios of ducks in one of the most stubborn families of ducks there were.

"No way! I'm going to help you!" He shouted, standing his ground.

Kit nodded his agreement. "I don't… _wheeze…_ know what's going on here, but we need all the help we can… _cough_ … get!"

Panchito was about to disagree, when suddenly there was no more time to argue. A mighty band split the skies open, and a massive airship lowered itself out of the clouds. Ropes fell from biplanes that swarmed the air like giant gnats. And suddenly, there were pirates everywhere – diving from the sky straight for their boat.

And from far above, on top of the blinding wind and coming rain, they could hear Pete's voice bellow – guttural and cruel – and just make out the worst words they could hear.

" _ **Get 'em!"**_

* * *

 _Back at the Thunderquack. Again,_

"And then we were up to our armpits in pirates."

Darkwing nodded along, only partially listening at this point. Not that it wasn't an interesting story, but there were dials and doodads that needed his attention, and who _hadn't_ had a fistfight with pirates at some point?

"I think they've got a cream for that," he droned absently.

"Hey, you wanted this story!" The Masked Mallard snapped, offended. Despite his reluctance to start talking, he was really getting into the storytelling now. "Are you going to listen to it, or make jokes!"

"Both, most likely." Darkwing shrugged. "You can keep on going, though."

"Fine…" The Mallard stuck out his tongue, not caring if Darkwing was watching, but did as he said regardless. "Now where was I… oh, right. So there we were, pirates dangling from ropes like dirtly little-"

'Wait… pirates!" Darkwing suddenly shouted.

"Well, yeah." The Mallard said bluntly. "That's what I said. They swarmed the ship." He mimed throwing a few punches, swinging a fake pirates' like a lance. "If you'd listen, you know fighting them off took-"

But Darkwing really _wasn't_ paying attention now. His eyes were on the Thunderquack's crime tracker, which was displaying some very troubling information. "No, I mean actually the _actual_ pirates. They're back! In St. Canard! Right now!"

The Mallard gasped. His story forgotten, he looked over the controls. "PJ was right! Radio! Now!"

Having no experience with the Thunderquack, it would've taken the Masked Mallard far too long to find the radio for Darkwing's taste. He flicked it himself, and tuned it to the St. Canard news. What they heard made them go from shocked to far worse.

The reporter on the air had just started her report. "… where an unsanctioned airship has perched above of the St. Canard headquarters of McDuck Industries." The Masked Mallard paled. Darkwing had to agree with the sentiment. "Sources indicate that this ship is the current airborne headquarters of the criminal organization known as the Air Pirates, whose illicit activities were the cause of the massive crackdown earlier this summer…"

"McDuck Industries!" The younger duck shouted. "But why are they going after Uncle Scrooge?!"

Darkwing grimaced. There was more to the situation than that, and as loath as he was to have to be the one to say so, his companion would have to know. "Any number of reasons, but the danger to the company assets isn't the only reason you should be worried." The Masked Mallard stared at him, eyes wide and afraid. Darkwing's grimace widened. "This might not be a good time to tell you, but you've been out of contact…"

"What?! What is it?"

"Only that your Uncle gave your brothers trial positions at that location." He said this very steadily, not wanting the young hero to miss the implication. "Internships with benefits, I guess. Something to think about when Gos and Honker are out of school, in my case…"

His attempt to smooth things over with humor didn't work, though then he didn't expect it to.

The Mallard started breathing heavily. He looked much more like a frightened Louie Duck than the vainglorious image he had been projecting – which reminded Darkwing that he still needed the rest of that story.

"Huey and Dewey are there?! N-no! Do you think they're…" The Mallard stopped himself, not bearing to finish the thought. "Oh, gosh. What if Pete knows?"

Darkwing shook his head. At the same time, he pushed the plane up into high gear. "He'd need some very good insider information. I only know because Scrooge told me." It was the truth, but he hoped it reassured the boy regardless. "But either way, they're in trouble. It's time to get dangerous."

"Right behind you…" The Mallard steeled himself, and the scared young man behind the mask pushed that fear down… at least for now. Darkwing knew he was far too green for this crisis not to be tearing him up like rabid dogs inside. "The Masked Mallard cannot let this evil stand!"

"That's the spirit…" Darkwing said, eyeing his companion with concern. This simple outing was turning into a serious problem. But that was what he took up his own mask for, and reservations or not he would have to lead the prospective hero beside him through it.

But first, they would have to get there in one piece. And given the speed that they were blasting through the sky, there was always a chance that they wouldn't…

* * *

 **Author's Note:** First off, I want to apologize for all the frog puns. Any more of those and even I might croak.

Just in case you forgot about the Masked Mallard, guess who's back. If any of you fine folks out there guessed he was Louie Duck, congrats. Have a virtual soda. We also dedicate a little time to my way of figuring out how the different Petes all fit together. I couldn't imagine PJ's dad as being the same Pete we see in the classic shorts and comics, the loathsome criminal with decades of villainy under his belt, so I have it that the Goof Troop Pete is the Pete Jr. who appeared in some of the shorts, estranged from the rest of his family. It's not mentioned, but in my take the Pete family dates its history all the way back to the evil Captain of the Guard who's villain of Mickey, Donald and Goofy's The Three Musketeers, maybe even earlier.

Duck references, on the other hand, are abound with Panchito, some pretty sly (like the crack about his Uncle Junipero being a really dark reference to his song from House of Mouse): and the more I write him, the more I like writing him. I only wish I could fit Jose in there somewhere. The reference to Daisy's nieces livestreaming is a reference to Legend of the Three Caballeros (which as of this writing still haven't been officially released - it's coming in the streaming service), though much like Ducktales 2017 I'm not specifically writing this with parts from that being canon (your friendly reminder that Louie and his brothers are based off of their Quack Pack versions, personality wise).

Anywho, this story isn't done yet - we're only halfway there. Now that the game is afoot, we'll see how long our young masked hero can keep going on **Ducking Responsibility,** next Darkwing time, _same_ Darkwing website!


	12. Ducking Responsibility Pt 2

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **The War on Gosalyn - Ducking Responsibility, Pt 2**

* * *

 _McDuck Industries' St. Canard's HQ, a half hour prior:_

The sun was shining, birds were chirping, children were playing, and all in all it was a beautiful day to sit inside an office and finalize meaningless paperwork. Dewey tried to mention this but for some reason his scarlet clad brother had taken it as _sarcasm!_ Perish the thought.

"It's not meaningless," Huey snapped. "These papers ensure we _actually_ have the right to build in this part of the city." He looked aside, frowning in restrained irritation. "With all the crap Glomgold's been up to, Uncle Scrooge is concerned about him trying to claim we're doing illegal business."

"Not something we want to be associated with, I remember," Dewey replied. Huey shot him a sidelock glance, no doubt wondering if the reference there was intentional, but Dewey didn't give him an inch. "The files aren't meaningless because of their subject matter, they're meaningless because _we've already handled them._ They're approved, signed, sealed, emailed and digitally backed up. Literally all we're doing here is waiting for the courier to show up and take them to city hall, and even that's just a formality!"

"You of all people know how important it is to be thorough," Huey said defensively.

"Thorough. Right." Dewey rolled his syes. "And this is not just you keeping yourself way too busy. Again."

"No comment."

"Because if you had free time, then you'd get to thinking about Louie." Dewey continued. "And then you'd be sad because you miss him, even if you're too proud and too stubborn to admit it."

"No _comment!"_

"I mean, I get it. I miss him too, more than I thought you could ever miss anyone." He paused, and really did matched Huey's torn frown for a second there. Then it was all sarcasm again. "But you don't see me 'getting over it' by throwing myself into _stuff I've already done before!_ Can't you just admit it's a tough time?"

"I said no comment, dude!" Huey shouted before he could stop himself. With a groan, he had to acknowledge that his brothers – make that brother, singular, since one was still long gone – knew him far too well. "Look, I just… I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"And I understand, Hue." Dewey sighed. "Like I said, I miss him too. Just…" He looked around pointedly – the halls were almost entirely empty, save for the two of them. "… can we not go too far like this again? Maybe do our moping on the beach?"

Huey smirked, knowing an opening for some more lighthearted banter when he heard it. "It's St. Canard, brother mine." He said. "The beaches are filthy and full of vengeful sea-people. Plus it's like I said…" he made a show of looking over the documents, inspecting their features in a way that would only make Dewey annoyed. "There's no shame in being thorough!"

"Oh yeah?" Dewey replied, grinning. "Then how to you explain-"

Suddenly, all the lights flickered on and off. All of them. An office like this one had the ever present sound of humming coming from something or another – the AC, the servers, etcetera and so on. Now all that sounds was quiet.

Even the computers, if they were connected solely to power, were all resetting in droves. Something, clearly, was amiss.

Dewey blinked, now feeling a lot more careful. This was not the way he intended to finish this sentence "… so, offhand, do you know of anything that can take out one of Uncle Scrooge's own electrical systems?"

It was a good question, with a simple answer.. Their uncle was, suffice to say, very old school and particular when it came to wiring. "I think not."

As if simply to compound their suspicions, there was suddenly a loud bump and crash from somewhere down the hallways. With the lights off, and sunset approaching, they couldn't see where.

"How much do you want to bet that's not the courier?" Dewey said, nervous.

By now, Huey had stopped mockingly eyeing the papers and was now tucking them into his coat . "About as much as I'd bet it's a nice afternoon for making deliveries ourselves." Still casual, he inched towards the door of their office. "To city hall?"

"Right behind you, bro," Dewey said, hopping over to his brother and falling in step.

Unfortunately, the two were a bit late. When Huey reached for the door, it opened for him – or more precisely it fell to the ground, knocked over from the other side. The two triplets jumped back as the room started to fill with grungy, rough looking ducks, rodents, canines and all other sorts with scars, eye patches and scarves: pirates to be sure.

But brigands alone weren't enough to give them pause. No, it was whomever was with them that really caught their anxious eyes. Not anyone the duo – or anyone in their right mind, really – were expecting to see, and it boded badly for anyone unfortunate enough to see them.

So of course, they were the ones who had to deal with it. Eyes met, and panic set in. The two scrambled back and retreated back to the desk, painfully aware that the pirates were still filtering in, and their chances were getting far slimmer the more those pirates outnumbered them…

As the room filled, and their options instantly ran dry, Dewey had only one thing to say. "I told you we should've left early!"

Even in their situation, Huey could still roll his eyes…

* * *

 _Halfway between Spoonerville and Duckburg, Midair,_

One thing that immediately struck Darkwing as different, travelling with the Masked Mallard as apposed to some of his team, was in the reactions after a trip went painfully awry. His group – even Crimson, when she was in her right mind – preferred stewing in awkward silences, before someone inevitably thought of something concise to say about what was going on. Conversation wouldn't start until everyone had gotten some token reflecting done.

The Mallard, on the other hand, took to situations like this loudly…

"I'm such an _idiot!"_ He was shouting, sounding inconsolably tense. The Thunderquack was rocketing to the danger zone, but they still had a long way to go, and self-blame was a wonderful travel game. "Of course Pete would pay attention just in case anyone with a cape tried talking to his grandson! It's his _grandson!_ "

"Calm down, already!" Darkwing groused. He could understand the boy's anxiousness, but all the shouting was giving him a headache. He carefully keyed a few buttons on the console, trying to bring up the radio so that he could send a message to the rest of his team.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted as something thin and hyper slammed into his shoulder. "Call the Tower!" The Mallard shrieked - his volume had gotten no lower, and his voice caused a few flinches going into directly Darkwing's ear. "Quick!"

"Amp it down a little, chum." Darkwing said sharply, shrugging the young hero off. "What do you think I'm doing?"

The Mallard shrunk back, allowing Darkwing to finish activating the communications. It only took a moment for the Thunderquack to sync with the tower, which _should_ have allowed them to stay in the loop as the others stopped the pirates. However, they didn't quite received what they thought they would.

It was definitely Techno's voice on the other end, no question. But it wasn't a reply, or a debriefing, or anything they could use. It was a dispatch of their own…

 _This is a prerecorded message."_ Techno's voice came in, sounding weary. _"The tower is currently on total lockdown – repeat, total lockdown! Darkwing, if you're listening to this, DO NOT COME BACK. We are dealing with a biohazard with potentially – ribbit! - endemic potential! Until we have this under control, we can guarantee no safety…. This a prerecorded message, the tower is currently…"_

Darkwing cut it off once it started to repeat. "Did he just _ribbit?_ " He said, eyeing the console incredulously.

The Mallard had more pressing concerns. "Aw, man. That's not good at all! Do you think they're connected? What are we going to do?" He said all that very quickly, almost like one sentence. Luckily Darkwing, who had been in quite a few crises in his day, had no trouble translating.

"In order: no it's not, there's only one way to find out, and we're going to fly there ourselves." He said, as he told to autopilot to gun the engines.

"But… but we're a half hour from the city at least!" The Masked Mallard stammered. He was so desperate he was shivering – Darkwing couldn't blame him.

"Then we'll wait," was the blunt reply, though Darkwing didn't much like the option either.

"Just wait?" The Mallard threw himself back in his seat. "I'll go _crazy_ up here if we can't do anything!"

"Then finish the story."

The Mallard stared at Darkwing, slow to believe what he had just heard. "…what?"

"You heard me." Darkwing said, shrugging casually – though in a very calculated way. If they were stuck here, he had to get his companion's mind off of worry. "I never did find out how you donned that mask."

"Now?" The Mallard shouted, a little angry. "Are you _insane?_ Huey, and Dewey…"

"Are out of reach for now," Darkwing cut in, with a pointed look. "We'll save them, and soon, but in the meantime there's no harm in talking, is there?"

He smiled at the boy sitting next to him, hoping the tactic would work. And thankfully, it did: the Mallard, while still tense, started to calm down ever so slowly. "I don't know…"

"Look, it's _my_ plane, isn't it?" Darkwing said, smirking. "Much like the duck himself, there's no crisis this baby can't get to in the nick of time."

"I'll hold you to that…" The Mallard said, nervously trying to get his good humor back. Seeing the sense in Darkwing's argument, he steeled himself – though it took a few moments - and began to continue his tale. "Now, where was I…"

* * *

 _Months Prior, The Water Outside St. Canard,_

Pirates everywhere. They flew through the air in biplanes, themselves toting more pirates that swung from ropes below. The weather was growing rough, so they couldn't quite storm the ship, but each pass brought the hanging pirates closer and closer to a full scale attack.

If they didn't do anything, they would be overrun in minutes. Panchito rushed closer to the bridge – he hadn't brought any walkie talkies when he went to talk to Louie, thinking he wouldn't need them – and tried to get the attention of the "helmsman."

"Oye! Oye!" He shouted, jumping up and down and waving his arms around. "Hard to starboard, Senor Martinez! Hard to starboard!"

Kit, who was still too exhausted to stand, looked over to Louie in concern. "There's someone else on this boat?"

"Only Uncle Panchito's horse," Louie replied, shrugging.

Kit went quiet for a minute as he processed that "simple" response and wondered – not for the last time - what kind of people he had thrown in with.

"… okay, I can buy that."

"Yeah," Louie chuckled, "you get used to it."

Panchito's steed luckily had perfect hearing, and even better helming skills. The ship turned tightly, making pace to who knows where – as long as it was away from the danger zone. It was a smallish ship, so the movement was quick: sharp enough several of the pirates attempting to drop onto the ship missed the mark and fell into the water instead.

But not all of them were so unlucky, however, and a small handful of cutthroats managed to grab the side and hoist themselves up.

Panchito was there in a second, with a crimson streak and a boisterous "ayiyiyiyi!" A single haymaker sent three of them into the drip in one blow. But the rest kept coming. Thinking quickly, Panchito did what he did best: raised his fists and prepared for a heck of a scrum.

But before the fun started, he turned back. "Louie!" He shouted. "Find our guest a seat in the bridge!"

"No!" Louie stepped forward defiantly. "I'm staying here to help!"

"No, _mijo!_ " Panchito said, allowing no argument. "A vicious fight for life and death is no place for a decrepit old man – no offense." He added the last part as an afterthought. "Besides, your Uncle Donald would _kill_ me if I let you into a fistfight within hours of taking care of you!"

Louie was about to disagree again, when he heard Kit whisper from behind him. "He's right about one thing, kid. If the pirates can't find me, they might leave you be."

"Really?"

Kit winced. Even he didn't have much faith in his own idea. "Worth a shot. Either way, you've got to get me out of here."

Reluctantly, _very_ reluctantly, Louie did as he was asked. He grabbed the old bear – as gently as he could – and hurried to the aft of the ship. It took a lot to ignore the sounds of Panchito and the pirates trading fists behind him, but he kept going all the same.

When they got to the bridge, Senor Martinez was clearly scared out of his equine mind, but was still dutifully keeping the helm straight. The ship was in high gear now, and was showing no signs of slowing down. The pirates would have a real chase on their hands.

Louie was impressed "That's surprising," he said, as he eased Kit into a chair. "Usually horses would be a lot more skittish."

Kit raised an eyebrow and looked back at their hooved helmsman. " _That's_ what surprises you?"

"Well, he's a pretty smart horse."

"No kidding." Kit snorted under his breath. "And… _cough…_ I guess with all the adventures I've been through, I can't talk much."

This made Louie's eyes light up. "Adventures? Quackaroonie, who exactly are you? And why do you have pirates on your tail?"

"All questions you probably don't need answered, for your own safety." Kit insisted. "And even if I _were_ going to tell you, now wouldn't be the time."

Louie looked away. He supposed that logic made sense – the second part, at least. He was getting those answers eventually. "Right then," he said, looking back out onto the deck. "I'm going back out to help Uncle Panchito."

"Don't." Kit wheezed. "You don't even have anything to defend yourself with!"

True enough, but a temporary setback. Louie quickly spied a length of pipe laying around the bridge and flipped it into his hands. He swung it about, imitating a master swordsman.

"Five years of fencing, a whole lifetime of sports, and a few adventures of my own under my belt!" He declared, more confident than he was sure Kit would be comfortable with. "Let them try and stop-"

"All very impressive, but get down!"

Despite his bravado, Louie did what he was told and dropped to the floor, where he couldn't be seen. A second later, he heard a massive _WHUMP_ hit the deck. Then, footsteps: a telltale _step, clop, step, clop_ that only confirmed Louie's suspicions. At the risk of getting himself noticed, Louie peeped up over the bridge windows.

The big, lumbering cat he saw stomping towards Panchito filled in the plot better than anything. "I thought I recognized that voice. Is that Pegleg Pete? Aw, man…"

Behind him, Kit tensed – though he couldn't see it. Not for the first – nor for last time by a long shot – the old bear wondered just what kind of daredevil's these were whose ship he had somehow blundered himself onto.

"Wait… you've gone up against Pete before?"

* * *

 _Back At The Thunderquack,_

The story took a quick intermission, for Darkwing had asked the exact same shocked question Kit had. Though unlike the aged plilot, _he_ ended it with an indignant "has _everyone_ met this guy but me?"

The Masked Mallard couldn't help but laugh to himself at Darkwing's childish indignation, just from being out of the loop. One would think it was some kind of competition.

"Sorry, but yeah." He faked a wince to hide a smile. "I first met him when he was masquerading as 'Captain Pietro,' and helping the twin brother of a royal friend of Uncle Scrooge's take over his kingdom. After that, he went up against Uncle Scrooge here or there, plus a few run ins with some of those cousins PJ mentioned. Uncle Donald has met him _way_ more, though. And I haven't heard any stories, but I wouldn't be surprised if Uncle Panchito had a few run ins with him too."

"I sometimes forget you Ducks have done practically _everything_." Darkwing said, rolling his eyes. "It's a little tough to play the experienced hero when you've already taken on every psychotic mercenary in the book."

He just shrugged – even before this business with the pirates, Louie and his brothers had been rather desensitized by now. "Hey, just doing what we have to do sometimes," he replied, before giving the his masked cohort a sidelong smirk, "and I'll have you know that a couple of those Pete lookalikes were actually pretty nice!"

"If you say so," Darkwing shook his head, groaning. "Just go on…"

* * *

 _The Flashback_

After a short backstory explanation not unlike the one he would give in the present, Louie tore from the bridge and hurried to the bow of the ship, where Pete was hopefully not pounding his honorary Uncle into paste.

Kit was shouting behind him – not so loud that Pete would hear, but definitely enough that Louie would. He was telling him to wait. Telling him to make a plan before he dove into danger. But Louie's propensity for shortsightedness was well known among his family. It was arguably the reason he was on this boat in the first place.

But in trying to talk him out of it, Kit _had_ pointed out something that caught his attention: Pete was more than strong enough to beat a wiry duck in his mid-twenties into paste too. Not that that would ever stop Louie from trying, but... "Pete's got a class jaw a mile wide!" He tried to convince himself. "Now all I have to do is reach it..."

When he finally hit the bow of the ship, he was met with a sight that almost torpedoed his bravado.

He was an instant too late. Pete had already knocked out Panchito. His honorary uncle's plan to hide their stowaway seemed to have worked: thanks to whatever his uncle had said to the brute during their fight, Pete wasn't searching for any more goodhearted troublemakers. The boat had one lifeboat, and Panchito had cleverly cut it before the fighting really started: so the pirates just assumed they had sent Kit on his way. Which was good: mission accomplished.

But that also meant that as far as Pete was willing to care, Panchito was the only one still aboard, with nobody but else a very talented but otherwise less-than-interrogatable horse at the helm. Which was bad news for the Mexican rooster.

"I knows dat wrinkly ol' bear came this way, bird!" Louie heard Pete growl to Panchito's unconscious body. "And I'm gonna have fun findin' out where he went. It ain't gonna be to pleasant fer you, though."

Pete grabbed Panchito about the waist and, to Louie's horror, lifted him straight into the air. Unlike the red of the Air Pirates, who used biplane designs reminiscent of the original machines that made their name, Pete's mode of transportation was a bit more modern. It looked a lot like a jet attached to a platform, and was clearly a heck of a lot easier to land on a boat. It seemed to be built for transporting cargo like this, for it was easily moving directly upwards to where the airship loomed.

Time was slim. Any second, and there would be no way for Louie to get to Panchito – possibly ever again.

So Louie had to think quickly: usually his brothers' forte, but he was pretty good at it where it counted. He climbed up the mast as fast he could, making sure Pete couldn't see, until he was at the top: a perfect leaping position. He stopped for a second to tear a shred off of the Mexican flag at the top – the green part, coincidentally enough - as the exhaust on Pete's platform could easily blind him if he wasn't careful. A makeshift mask would have to do.

With that in place, he sprung from the mast just as Pete reached his height, and drove the pipe into the platform's floor like a stake.

He heard Pete should "What the..?" but he needed is concentration for this next part. The force of the impact drove him down at first, dangerously near the exhaust like he feared, but he wasn't about to let a little thing like gravity stop him. He swung himself around, using the fall to his advantage, and swung himself onto the platform. Before Pete could react, he grabbed the pipe out of the ground and took a mighty whack at the platform's controls. Like a crane sent out of whack, the whole think tiled dramatically. Louie and Pete were both able to keep their footing, but they were no longer rising, and Pete had lost his grip on Panchito.

There wasn't time to celebrate, though. In an instant Louie was on the defensive, for Pete had a sword aimed at his gut. Pipe met blade, and they locked into an impasse – like something out of an old swashbuckling movie.

"Okay, who th' heck are you?!" Pete growled, his terrible breath flowing over Louie's face and nearly making the poor kid gag.

Louie was confused, at first. "W-what? Oh! The mask!" He gasped, realizing that Pete of course couldn't see who he was. "I forgot it was there…"

He may not have planned for it, but it didn't take him long to decide to milk the opportunity. He was young, after all. "That's none of your concern… um… villain! I'm here to stop you!"

"Another do-gooder?" Pete snarled. "Th' world is just fillin' up with you types!"

Louie gave what he hoped was his best heroic smirk. "I suppose it is, you… er… portly pirate!" Pete blanched, and looked down at his gut with an almost self-conscious look. Louie almost winced – he'd have to work on his banter. "You can call me the… uh… the…" he paused, trying to cycle through good aliases. But time was running low, Pete was starting to get over his surprise, he would have to say the first that game to mind: "The Masked Mallard! And your evil today is at an end!"

With that, he spun around Pete – letting the brute fall past him – and took another shot at the platform controls. This seemed to be the jackpot shot: the platform shuddered briefly, and then suddenly it was zooming up to the airship. Thinking quickly, Louie realized they would have to get off now or risk being on board when the rig collided with its home. So he grabbed Panchito and, straining under the weight but empowered by the force of his own determination, leapt to the mast with his uncle in tow.

The two of them slid down to the deck: it was a near thing and a rough landing, but they were no worse for the wear. Louie looked up, and saw the platform fly into the sky, the sound of Pete's curses fading away all the while. It crashed headlong into the airship's cargo bay, and a moment later the ship started to drift: evidently, the crash had taken out some important machinery. The Iron Vulture, it was not.

The remaining pirates buzzing around all shot back to the ship, no doubt to try and keep it from crashing into the water, which Louie hoped would give him the time he needed to get them all out of there. He pulled Panchito to the bridge – the rooster felt a lot heavier now that the adrenaline wasn't pumping so much – and… that's about as far as his plan went.

"W-what do we do! What do we DO?" He babbled, staring at his unconscious uncle, his weakened guest and his equine helmsman. This was not the most capable of adventuring teams. "We have to get back to Duckburg…"

"NO!" Kit shouted – not the best idea, as it just sent him into another coughing. If Louie wasn't concerned before, he definitely was now. The bear looked like his was withering away every second. "They'll be expecting us to go to the nearest city. Once they get their ship running, they'll just intercept us."

"So what do you suppose we do?" Louie replied.

Kit thought for a moment. "Due east by southeast from here, I think. After an hour, go straight south."

"And what's there that's going to keep us from becoming pirate fodder?"

The smile on Kit's face was quite sheepish. "It's their typical hunting ground."

Louie nearly fainted. "We're supposed to keep safe by going where they _usually_ go to rob and pillage people?" He shouted. "What, are you crazy?"

"It's the last place they'd think we'd go." Kit explained hastily. "They'll get a beat on us eventually, but that gives us the most amount of time."

He wasn't totally convinced, but try as he might Louie couldn't think of a better plan. So, reluctantly, he gave Senor Martinez the directions and hoped for the best.

Panchito woke up along the way, thankfully not seriously harmed - though he still had to keep off his feet. And once made aware of Kit's plan, he actually agreed with the logic quite quickly – which made Louie feel better about going along with it, even though Panchito's approval wasn't exactly a sign that it _wasn't_ crazy.

But the approval of his adventurer Uncle or not, it was difficult not to have one's faith shaken upon seeing the pirates' hunting ground. It was impossible to mistake, once they were there: the whole place was in need of _someone,_ be it the coastguard or SHUSH or Gizmoduck or _anyone_ , to come to its rescue.

The area was craggy and full of rock formations: a risky reef to sail through, but even a neophyte sailor like Louie could guess it was probably a tantalizing shortcut to the reckless ("Dead Duck Reef," Panchito called it)… little did they know the other threat they would be facing, besides a little rough seas.

Empty ships floated on the water like dots in a game of Battleship. Some were half sunken, but most were just devoid of anything: no sailors, no cargo, wiped clean. The pirates seemed to use this place not only to hunt for easy pickings, but also to dump refuse or plunder they had no desire to keep: loose metal, broken planes, the lifeboats of poor schmoes who were unable to get away…

Louie just felt lucky there were no bodies floating in the water. But then, while he knew little about the pirates' old leadership, he had never known Pete to be an indiscriminate killer. Sure, he would try and cut your head off if you got in his way, but if he simply caught you he preferred a ransom over anything.

It was a harrowing experience, navigating through the tenuous terrain and around all the flotsam – especially for a horse. But Senor Martinez hadn't steered them wrong yet. However, that said, Louie still had _one_ concern he felt needed voicing.

"You said the pirates wouldn't think to look for us here first, right?" He asked Kit, who nodded. By the time he had thought it over enough to feel confident voicing this, they were already well into the region, and would have just as much a time getting out as they would going further in. "Well, what's to stop them from finding us and starting this all over again once they do? We're way out in the open!"

It was true. The waters were dangerous when in the middle of them, but would be horribly visible from above. But Kit didn't seem worried. Or at least, he didn't seem unsure – he seemed a bit too intent on _not_ looking worried for Louie to be sure he actually wasn't.

"I've thought of that," he said. With some help from Louie, he went towards the bridge windows and scanned the horizon. "There!" He shouted – though in his condition, it came out as more of a loud rasp – pointing to a massive rocky outcropping sticking out of the waves in the distance, which was itself circled _inside_ another group of outcroppings.

It looked suicidal, even without Panchito _and_ Senor Martinez gasping behind them. There was little space to fit a boat in between them: the seas looked calm, but the reef and the rocks beneath the waves were at their thickest there, and that's not even mentioning the naturally formed wall around it. Any crew foolish enough to try and get over there deserved what they got, and Louie was not looking forward to joining them.

"You want to go _there?!"_ Panchito shrieked, which Louie had never heard him do before. Senor Martinez hopped back from the helm and ducked his head under the dashboard. So much for eased nerves. "Ay caramba, I never thought…"

Kit, seemingly oblivious to their shock, confirmed his idea with a nod. "I remember overhearing the pirates chattering about that place. It's some sort of naturally forming cave, but they chose not to use it as a lair."

"Because it is impossible to get to!" Panchito tried to explain. "That cave is the _reason_ this is called Dead Duck Reef! The water here is bad enough. The rocks are even choppy enough that it would probably be difficult to fly to. It is death, pure and simple."

"So the pirates would never expect us to be crazy enough to go there, and wouldn't even bother checking!" Kit insisted. "Trust me, I know how crazy this sounds, but I think this ship is just small enough to make the trip. We'll outfox _and_ outmaneuver them, no problem, and plan our next move from there."

Panchito paused. Again, the logic seemed to make a good impression on him. But this time, he wasn't entirely convinced. "I cannot tell a lie, usually a description like that would have my zooming over there so fast my feathers would be left behind! But…"

He glanced over at Louie, who was taken aback for a second.

Of _course_ Panchito was worried for his safety. Trusting him to protect the bridge during a pirate attack was one thing. Being okay with having his beloved nephew onboard while they were _literally_ sailing into what could be certain death? Louie could see the pause in his expression. It actually made him feel better, just a little bit.

But if Panchito was going to refuse the only plan they had on his behalf, maybe it fell to Louie to come up with a good take on the plan himself. So, just like he did when Panchito was in trouble, he tried to make his own decision. His first instinct was to _not_ do the thing that no one had ever survived before, but what other option did they have? He thought it over, the way Dewey would: strictly speaking, they had no choice. But with variables like that, making the trip wasn't a choice at all. They couldn't risk it.

Maybe Huey would have done differently, though. Charge in, guns blazing. But then, he probably would have advocated staying put and taking the fight to the pirates. Not taking any guff from anyone. Which… wasn't a very smart idea, not right now.

So if not his brothers, would Uncle Scrooge have… no. Louie didn't want to think about that, just yet.

He mentally shook himself, trying to get ahold of his wandering thoughts. He had to be better than this. That was the reason he was out here, wasn't it? To find himself. Forge his own path. How would someone like the kind of person Louie wanted to be do it?

How would Darkwing Duck do it?

"… I say we go for it."

The other two stared at him: Kit with a grim triumph on his face, Panchito with a mix of shock and a dawning pride.

"Are you sure, mijo?" Panchito said carefully, no doubt thinking of how badly Donald Duck would clobber him once he learned about this conversation, but unable to fully hide his excitement. "That's… well… it's not a very fun looking trip."

But Louie was sure. In fact, there was a slow, crazy smile not unlike the one Panchito himself wore in situations like this growing on his face. "Yea, I think so. If we can't turn back, we have to go forward, and who knows when the pirates will be here? Senor Martinez!" The horse snapped its head out from under the dashboard, visibly dreading the words Louie was about to say. "Back onto the helm, we'll need to do some careful sailing! Uncle Panchito! Kit!"

He turned to the other two, who snapped to look at him. Kit actually looked surprised, even though his idea was being followed. Perhaps he wasn't expecting someone so young to act so… passionate. And why not: Louie was surprising _himself_ at this point. But Panchito just kept on looking proud. "You guys have to navigate, and navigate _real_ well," Louie said. "Otherwise, we'll just end up fish food. And I hear that Neptunia lady doesn't like fishing ducks, roosters or bears out of the ocean. But I think we can do this, so let's go:"

He braced himself and took a deep breath. It was about to get hectic…

"Let's. Get. Dangerous!"

* * *

 _Back At the Thunderquack,_

"And that's that." The Mallard finished. "There isn't much more to tell."

Darkwing glared at him. He had become a bit more invested in the story than he originally intended. "You're kidding. I'm flattered I was such an inspiration, I guess, but that's all?" He waved his hands around incredulously, thankful he wasn't actually flying the plane. "I assume since you're here that you didn't all die in the reef, at least."

"Got it in one," the Mallard snickered, his anxiety momentarily forgotten for the chance to tease his hero. "It took us like three hours of crazy tense maneuvers, but we actually got to that cave. And just in time. The pirates were there _just_ an hour or so later. If we'd hesitated any more, they would've caught us."

"So you didn't get shredded by a reef, and you didn't get skewered by pirates. Swell," Darkwing droned, indifferently. "But you still haven't explained where all… _this_ came from!" He wildly gestured to the Mallard costume. "Which I'm pretty sure was the whole point."

"Oh, right. Well… after the pirates left, we tried to figure out what to do. Uncle Panchito and I wanted to take Kit to a hospital – and personally, I thought my uncle could've used a looking at too – but Kit refused. He said the pirates would track us down easy if we went to a hospital."

He hesitated, the signs of an old lack of commitment bleeding through. "I didn't really believe the pirates we saw were that organized – I'm still not sure - but he was insistent. It turned into a fight – just a small one - and we kept pushing him for answers. So eventually he told us… well… everything."

" _Everything?"_ Darkwing replied. That was a tall order. Kit Cloudkicker knew quite A lot, including a few things Darkwing was rather secretive about. "Such as…"

"You know, how he stole one of the Sub-Electron Amplifiers from Don Karnage as a kid, so the pirates hounded him for the rest of his life, ruining it piece by piece and hurting his family like jerks." A sigh, as the Mallard and Darkwing shared some sympathy for the old bear. "He also told me how he went on the run, and found out that the Amplifier made him… well, I'm not sure I should say 'immortal,' but..."

"'Un-aging' works, I guess. Not a bad run of exposition, either." Darkwing smirked. "I assume he told you about our final battle with Karnage and Negaduck?"

"Yeah, but he was hazy on how you guys met up. I was hoping you might…" The Mallard trailed off. Meanwhile Darkwing breathed a sigh of relief – they had "met up" by way of Kit reaching out to their civilian identities, something the Mallard didn't need to know yet – and then leveled a forbidding glare at the young hero, who winced. "… or, maybe not."

"So how did he survive?" Darkwing pushed on, changing the subject. "Inquiring minds need to know."

"It was a near thing, the way he tells it," The Mallard replied, his voice low with tension. "The Amplifier was gone, he was adrift at sea and… he says it was like being in a slingshot. His body aged decades in the span of a few minutes. The strain would've killed anyone else, but he hung on." He shuddered just thinking about it. "Then the pirates pulled him out of the water and everything got worse, especially before they united under Pete. They were scattered and broken, and they had him to blame for it. He was a mess when we found him. Hence us wanting to go to the hospital."

"He never budged, though. But he was so urgent about it, though we still weren't sure if he was right about the pirates being dangerous _now,_ but by the end of it we were willing to let him ride out… whatever it was he was going through." Now he looked regretful. Clearly, this wasn't a decision he was ever too happy with. "Thankfully it's not killing him, but his condition… uh… isn't the best thing for the body regardless."

"I know some people who could take a look at him and stay safe enough even for his standards. Trust me, I know the story and I know why he's so paranoid." Darkwing held out his arm for the Mallard to shake, but got a hi-five instead. Kids… "In any case, are we getting to the gaudy costume now..? No offense."

"Er… right." The Mallard poked at his costume a little, frowning. "So then, Kit started to tell us other things. New things. Like how he had tried to listen in on information about the pirates' new habits under Pete. About their tactics. About the kind of crimes they were doing now, and their plans. About how bad they were willing to let things get."

"And how bad is that?"

"Bad. They're rebranding. Becoming more daring. Going for more insane targets for reasons even Kit isn't sure about," he eyed Darkwing's growing frown, nodding. "And you saw the end result of that at the auction."

"I also remember Pete remembering your face, or at least your mask." Darkwing pointed out. "Where do you come in?"

He chuckled, then looked away, then looked back in quick succession. His face had gotten a little red, and his eyes – they were miles away. "I don't know how it started exactly. Maybe with finding out about Uncle Scrooge. Maybe with leaving Duckburg. Maybe with fighting Pete to save Uncle Panchito, but… I couldn't just stand there any more, hiding in a literal _or_ metaphorical cave. I had never made a decision like that on my own before. It'd always wanted to help, but always did so with a group: with my brothers, with my Uncle." He grinned, involuntarily gripping the sword at his waist. "Now I actually want to take charge. I want to _do_ something."

"So I said to Kit, we could use his information to counter the pirates' plan. And I said to Uncle Panchito, we could use his ship to beat them to the punch. And I said to myself… well…" he gestured to his ensemble, chuckling to himself. "…it's time to get dangerous. So we've been countering their attacks bit by bit, using the same kind of 'gaudy' tactics you do, trying to send them cowering back to that 'secret base' of theirs."

"And again, I'm flattered," Darkwing said, filing the 'secret base' hint away for later. "I guess it's not too gaudy, though I can't imagine your family will be too happy to hear about it." This came out more severely than he was intending, as the Mallard's sudden wince could attest. The father in him – the kind who was already suffering the pain of a loss – was difficult to ignore. "I'm surprised Panchito didn't tell your Uncle Donald you were doing something so dangerous. What happened to being the good friend and uncle?"

"I actually asked him about that," the Mallard said, wistfully. "And we said that we should _both_ tell Uncle D eventually. But for now… he could see I wanted to do this, and that I _needed_ to do this, for me. So he let me do it, for now. He even gave me this sword." He pulled the blade out of its scabbard, letting Darkwing take a clear look at the elegant design. "It belonged to one of his great grandfathers. Pretty cool, huh?"

Darkwing had to admit, it was impressive: it shined like something out of an old story. "I've never seen its equal," he said. "But… I'm not sure I agree with Panchito's take. Take it from someone who knows, you need to tell your family. If nobody else, at least them. Your brothers, especially." A little more of that pain was coming out now, but it was hard to keep in. "You never know when the chance to talk might be taken from you, and then who knows all the ways you'll regret it, just like your Uncle Scrooge."

This was the wrong thing to say. Granted, Darkwing was pretty sure it _would_ be, but it still needed to be said regardless. And the damage was done. The "Louie" part of the Mallard closed off entirely, and all of a sudden the swordsman was all business. "I'm more concerned about _saving their lives_ at the moment." He said curtly, turning to the windows in a way that made clear that line of conversation was over.

Darkwing shrugged – they would table it, for now – and matched his gaze. His plan had worked: they had been talking so long that the trip just flew by, no pun intended. They were now looking at the St. Canard skyline.

"How long until we get there?" The Mallard grunted, arms crossed tightly. Darkwing almost laughed. For a guy older than Gosalyn, he certainly acted a lot like a teenager.

"Not long," Darkwing replied. He fiddled with the controls, getting eyes back on the tv cameras. The situation had not significantly changed, thankfully – neither Huey nor Dewey Duck, nor any employees, were reported hurt or worse. McDuck Industries' new headquarters was in their sights, and would be reached in no time (sure, Darkwing Tower was closer and possibly _also_ in trouble, but he trusted Techno to deal with whatever was going on). In fact, in the distance they could see the pirates' new airship – the Mallard wasn't kidding, it was a real step down – hovering over the city.

"Okay, so it's go time." The Mallard replied. He coughed with an official air, trying to push his casual voice into a "heroic" one. "Then all that's left is to figure out how to get close?"

At this, Darkwing _did_ laugh. "You forget, this autopilot program was modeled by Launchpad."

So much for keeping up an "official" air. At that, despite his sour mood and tense situation, the Mallard laughed too…

* * *

 _McDuck Industries' St. Canard's HQ, Simultaneously_

'Hey, look at that! Big, dumb Pete can't catch a pair of scrawny ducks! PPPHHHTT!"

Huey Duck had been a master of raspberries ever since he was eight years old. He could make monks and nuns fly into an offended rage with the sound of his immature mockery. Such a skill usually recedes with adulthood, but not with Huey. Huey saw the potential for such a thing as a tactic: not just in business, but in life.

Case in point, right now he was using it to make a several hundred pound pirate want to kill him. Not the _safest_ potential, but…

"Jeez," Dewey whispered sharply from around the hallway corner, where neither Pete nor his pirate crew could see him. He held fast to a thin cord, attached to a door behind Huey, waiting for his moment. "Be less subtle, would you Hue?!"

"Hush!" Huey whispered back, not taking his eyes off the pirates. They were on the far end of the hall, with quite a lot of ground between them: but they both knew that Pete was faster than he looked, and could catch them in no time if he was so inclined.

And he was definitely inclined. He was visibly furious, but stood his ground despite it. "Ha! You think that's gonna work?" He snarled. Huey tried not to look surprised. "I ain't get to be the best by taking any old bai-"

He was cut off as one of his loyal pirates jumped forward. "Don't worry, we'll defend yer honor boss!" He shouted, followed by a rousing cry from the rest of the brigands as they rushed forward, swords and pistols raised.

They also quite conveniently failed to hear Pete as he reached to stop them, much to Huey's delight. "Wait, you idiots! Don't-"

Too late. The thundering group of pirates took one step too many into the hall, and stepped on a little mixture the two triplets put together: one that was totally invisible and nice and slippery.

The sight of a dozen bloodthirsty thugs careening down the hall like bananas on a slip and slide was hysterical, but Huey held it in until they came closer. At the last moment, he easily slipped out of the way and let Dewey helpfully open the door for them. They crashed inside the room – one of the building's many supply closets – in a giant heap, and Huey quickly kicked the stragglers inside and shut the door, locking it with his master key.

Pete, now alone – at least for now – glowered at them from the other side of the hall. He didn't dare try to walk over the doused floor, but if _looks_ could kill…

"Looks like you're down a few goons, Pietro!" Huey laughed triumphantly, before grabbing and chuckling Dewey and making scarce. Mockery or not, they both knew Pete had loads more pirates with him than just one squad, and that he would find his way around the their trap sooner rather than later.

But then, they weren't just running. Believe it or not, they _wanted_ Pete to find their way to them. Just not yet…

"Quick, this way, Dew!" Huey shouted, still pulling Dewey along. They reached a split in the corridor, and Huey quickly tore to the left.

"You sure it's not _this_ way?" Dewey groused, nodding his head in the other direction. He pulled his hand out of Huey's grip and glared, half lidded, at his gung-ho brother.

"Would I forget the floor map of my own facility, entrusted to me by my esteemed Uncle Scrooge? _Would_ I?" He caught a look at his brother's face and, before Dewey could answer, set of running in his chosen direction. "Now get moving! We need to get the trap in place before the pirates get wise! _"_

For a moment Dewey stayed behind to stare at his brother, then he sighed in knowing annoyance and followed behind.

Five minutes later found them staring at a dead end. Granted, a very nice dead end - conference room with minibar, comfortably large size and a nice view of the city – but about the worst place they could be escape wise. The wall opposite the door was nothing but ceiling-high windows, but there was no way they could leave that way unless they wanted to take the express route to the ground. It's like the view was mocking them.

"This is the wrong place, Hue." Dewey said flatly. He would have to have a word with whoever designed this place.

Huey, meanwhile, was banging his head against his palm. "Not another word, Dew."

"I dunno about that, boys…" came a voice from behind them. The two froze, realizing their time was up. "I could use a few words from ya. 'Ouch,' maybe. Or 'we surrender, Petey, please don't hurt us!'"

Pete stepped into the room, sword drawn and peg leg sharpened just for the occasion. A small host of pirates – even more than he had before – were behind him, all looking especially mean even given their typical disposition.

"Can we set it off now?" Huey grunted, only for his brother's ears. Meanwhile, he put his hands up and backed away from the stabby brigands as slowly as he could.

"Not while they're in the same room as us." Dewey hissed. "And besides, we would still have no way out!"

"Darn it…" Huey's breath hitched, just so slightly. "Sorry, bro. Any ideas?"

"I've got a few regrets. Mostly about…"

"Don't even say it, Dew." Huey said sharply, a practiced response, before sighing. "I miss him too."

Pete leapt forward with an irritated growl. "Enough wit' the sentiment already!" He shouted, jabbing his swords towards his enemies and forcing them to stand still. He would have no more escapes tonight. "You two are mine, y'hear me! And the first thing yer gonna do is-"

Whatever Pete wanted them to do swiftly became irrelevant as the room exploded: or more precisely, the windows burst as the Thunderquack went smashing into the wall. Luckily, none of them were close enough to get hit – in fact, it was a comical sight to see the plane sticking out of the wall like a splinter – but the force still knocked Huey and Dewey to the ground.

Burly pirate that he was, Pete was able to keep his ground… though he wouldn't for long. He looked up at the plane, shielding his eyes, and has just enough time to see the green-suited swordsman pitch out of the ship and launched straight for him, kicking him square in the ribs with a flying kick.

"You _again?"_ He spluttered. He stumbled back from the force of the blow, and the Mallard only pressed the attack, launching himself at the pirate from every angle he could.

"You can't hide, Pete!" He screamed, like a battle cry. "You want to hurt this family? Well, the Masked Mallard will _**not allow it!"**_

Meanwhile, Darkwing also exited the Thunderquack, though a lot calmer than his temporary partner. He chuckled at the sight of the fight in progress, Pete looking completely dumbfounded at the furious green blur whirling itself around him. "Not a bad introduction…" he mused to himself.

Instead of throwing himself into the fight, he took a moment to take stock of the situation. The other pirates had been just as stunned as the boys, but he knew who the priorities were. Right away he was at the Duck brothers' side, checking to make sure they weren't seriously injured.

"Could you have done that without smashing up our building?" Huey coughed as he was pulled to his feet.

"Right… sorry about that," Darkwing said sheepishly. "Blame Launchpad."

"Launchpad _isn't even here!"_

Darkwing shrugged and moved on to his brother, who had more pressing things to talk about once he got his bearings. "Just in the nick of time, Darkwing!" He said, shaking off the dazed feeling as best he could. "We need to get the pirates out of this room and into the hallway, now!"

"No need to tell me twice!" Once the brothers were settled, Darkwing rushed into the fray, first by dragging still stunned pirates out of the room. This… was a little harder than he thought it would be: the average bloodthirsty pirate weighted a lot more than one would think a scurvy-ridden flying vagabond might. Perhaps Pete was feeding them more than their daily dose of protein…

And meanwhile, in his rage the Masked Mallard was still trying to fight Pete, but that was starting to look like the least effective option. Now that the surprise was worn off, Pete was fighting him to a standstill. The other pirates were starting to wake up and rally around him. Getting them all out of here the old fashioned way would take forever for the four of them, if they even _could_ fight them all off.

No, this required something special. He mentally went through everything he had with him. "The Thunderquack's munitions were knocked out of commission – thanks, Launchpad – but maybe we could fly it a little further in? Nah, McDuck would _definitely_ send me the bill if I went that far. Something smaller, then." He looked down at his belt, and suddenly an idea occurred.

He turned to the brothers, who were preparing to charge the pirates football-style. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to be sticklers for fire safety, would you?" He asked.

Huey stood up, and a mischievous grin spread across his face as he caught on. "I think I know where you're coming from. Just give us a signal!"

In the field, Darkwing loved little more than when a plan came together. With a determined nod, he leapt into the fray – over the head of the Masked Mallard who, having not heard the conversation, faltered in confusion – and loaded a pellet into his gas gun.

"Stand back, Mallard! I got this!" He said, aiming the gun directly at Pete's snarling face.

"You really think dat little pea shooter's gonna hurt me?" Pete said mockingly. "I eat cannonballs fer breakfast, duck!"

If Pete thought a boast like that would make Darkwing back off, he didn't know the hero very well. He stood firm. The Masked Mallard came up from behind, insisting he continue his own attack, but Darkwing shrugged him off. "Maybe," he said, casual as can be, "but it's not about force!"

Suddenly, he dipped the gas gun down and shot the ground directly between them. Gas quickly filled the area, blocking them all off from seeing one another.

Pete stepped back, putting his arms out to keep the other pirates from charging again. "Keep sharp, boys! He'll try to attack somewhere else! Once he does, we've got him!"

"You would think so…" Another voice – Dewey's – said through the haze.

Unable to see, let alone fight, through the gas, Pete and his cronies were taken completely by surprise when they were assaulted not by punches or gadgets, but by sudden twin jets of foam. They were pushed back, slipping as the foam coated the ground they stood on.

Pete tried to push back, but his footing was weak as well. He couldn't move forward, and could hardly keep himself from moving back. Before long, all of his pirate minions were ejected from the room, leaving him the last one standing.

"Like I said, not about force. It's about _pressure!"_ Darkwing finished. His shape came flying through the fog, along with the Masked Mallard's, and together they slammed into Pete and make him lose his balance. Screaming insults, the burly crook was launched from the room to join the others.

"Quick!" Dewey shouted. On the other end of the gas cloud, he and Huey dropped the fire extinguishers they used (Scrooge McDuck's favorite brand, getting more foam for less money!) and pulled out their personal phones. Before the pirates could recover from the streams being broken, they each tapped something into the system.

A loud clanging, lots of them in fact, echoed throughout the building. Like a blast door, the entrance to the room joined the chorus as a metal slab covered the door. The last they saw of Pete was him lunging for the opening with a furious "no!" before the whole thing was shut tight.

The clangs continued to sound, as the same thing presumably happened all over the floor. Outside, they could hear Pete shouting in total, blithering rage.

Not that any of them cared any more. Allowing himself to finally relax, Dewey chuckled and looked to their savior. "Nice physics joke, Darkwing."

"I try to keep up banter on a wide range of subjects, just in case."

Huey, meanwhile, dubiously eyed the mysterious other hero joining the Duck Knight up and down. "… seriously? Zorro?"

"You're kidding, right?" The swordsman grit his teeth. "Did you miss my dramatic entrance? I'm the _Masked Mallard!"_ He declared, clearly trying to deepen his voice in a way that only made him sound like a ham.

"I'm pretty sure you're not." The red duck's reply was flat and disdainful, but almost seemed automatic, like he didn't entirely mean to say it out loud. But the Mallard stared, forcing him to clarify. "I mean…" he said. "…the _real_ Masked Mallard was active in Duckburg a decade ago. Obviously, you're too young for that. What, you couldn't cut it as a hero unless you stole someone's name?"

"Do you always have to be such a jerk?"

Huey's eyes narrowed. "How would you know, exactly?"

The Masked Mallard approached Huey, looking furious. But then, Dewey was suddenly between them. "Look, it doesn't matter. The pirates are done for. Every room on this floor has been cut off from every other room by solid, unbreakable metal. We _won!"_

"Well, not _unbreakable._ " Darkwing said airily. He tapped the metal door with one wing, and decided he liked the sound. "I could probably break through this if the Thunderquack's weapons weren't mashed by that crash. And the pirates probably have something similar up on that airship of theirs, even if it does look like it's made of paper mache."

"True," Dewey conceded, but he was still grinning. "But then they would have to choose between getting us and getting Pete out of here." He said. Darkwing nodded – that was an impressive bit of foresight. No wonder Scrooge trusted these boys to keep this place running. "By the time they do, the cops or SHUSH could round up most of them. None of them have anything like the weapons _you_ carry around on a daily basis."

"Lucky for the neighborhood," Huey joked. The Mallard made a small, disparaging sound, which the duck ignored. "And now that you're here, we can just escape on your plane, leaving them high and dry."

"Good plan." Darkwing said, smirking. "Just be sure to include the heroic parts when you tell your Uncle about it."

"Don't worry," Dewey laughed. "We'll be sure to tell Uncle Scrooge all about how _we_ caught an entire ship worth of pirates all by ourselves, while Darkwing Duck watched." At the look on Darkwing's face, he quickly amended. "Just kidding, just kidding."

The Masked Mallard rolled his eyes, but hid a smile. He gestured for the two businessducks – still civilians, technically – to stop snarking and board the plane already, trying to hide his joy for his brothers' safety while he was still in costume. It looked like he had gotten himself all worked up with worry for – they had arrived in the nick of time, yes, but everything had worked out now. He send Darkwing a thumbs up… but Darkwing didn't get a chance to see it.

Suddenly, the floor trembled. A loud _boom_ sounded. far in the distance. Then another, closer. Then closer, and louder. And closer, and louder still.

"What the…" Huey shouted. The sounds of explosions were getting faster, more frequent. Whatever was coming, it was coming _fast._

"Aw, I've got a bad feeling about this…" the Mallard said slowly. He backed away from the door, sensing trouble, and the others followed suit. A moment later, their fear proved wise.

The door flew off its supports, trailing fire, and landed so heavily on the ground that the floor cracked under it. And what they saw on the other side made Darkwing's face drop with horror.

A motorcycle rolled inside, over the ruined door. It was like a twisted, red imitation of the Ratcatcher, identical if not for the way every unoccupied space was stuffed to the chassis with weapons of every kind. It was like a tank on two wheels, plus a sidecar of death.

And beside it, a familiar teenage redhead: strong, fierce, and glad in ripped and faded clothing, complete with a diabolical smile that didn't belong on her face, and an everpresent, overexcited giggle. Her slimmer cohort, once again wearing his modified gas mask, came in behind her carrying what could only be described as a "hand cannon."

"It's the Evil Crimson from the news!" Huey shouted. The Masked Mallard fell into a fighting stance, and once Darkwing got over his shock he joined in as well.

Said evil Crimson, the more-than-spitting image of his daughter, chuckled to herself with rolled eyes."Beats 'Negawing,' but I still don't like it. Try again."

"And… I guess that's her sidekick?" Dewey said, looking at the second figure. NegaHonker – though no one here but Darkwing knew him by that name – scowled.

"Cute, McDuck Jr." He said, tightening his grip on his gun. "For that, you die first."

"Aww…" Dewey pretended to sigh, before getting mad for real. "Wait a second, how did you guys get through the walls! Uncle Scrooge spent a fortune on that system."

Crimson patted the side of her bike affectionately. "Nothing for the ol' NegAvenger, here. There's no kill like overkill, right? If at first you don't succeed, blow it up? Everything's coming up explodey?" She patted the bike again, a little too hard this time, and a small missile fired from its mirror. The shot flew over the heroes' heads, slipped through the hole between the Thunderquack and the wall, and zoomed into the air, where it exploded brighter than the sun for a minutes before raining sizzling charcoal down below.

"Kind of self explanatory, am I right?" She finished, turning away her attention from the Duck brothers completely. She looked to Darkwing, and her expression turned playful. "Long time no see, D.W!" She said, the dark tone undercutting the way she almost squealed at the sight of her nemesiss. She craned her neck, as if to try and find someone behind him. "So… where's our _other_ escaped mental patients."

She wasn't fooling anyone, not with that look in her eyes. Darkwing knew _exactly_ who, specifically, she really meant. He clamped his teeth together, so his sadness wouldn't leak out. "Sorry, but what you see is what you get!" He said defiantly. "Don't blame me if there's something a lot more important they'd rather be doing."

* * *

 _Darkwing Tower, Simultaneously_

"Isss thisss or isss thisss _not_ the mossst important thing you'll ever do! I'm turning into a ssslimy amphibian, here!"

Techno grunted – he did _not_ croak, thank you very much – and tried to tune out Camille's incessant complaining.

She was the only one left: he had lost Morgana, who was now bouncing along the interior walls of the tower magicking everything within reach into more and more frogs. She hadn't left yet, and he just had to hope for the best: he couldn't go out and try to stop her without giving Camille free reign of the place. As it was, Techno considered it a miracle she hadn't zapped the door to the brig and leg the genuine Frogduck out, but it hardly mattered now.

Christine and Dr. Lovell were gone too, and he had forced them out of the lab before they could do any inadvertent damage to their own work in their increasingly wacky state.

He was getting to be in a bad way too. His mind kept drifting. He'd already had a few near misses, a few minutes of complete senselessness: he did a few things that made him really glad he had control over the tower's security footage, and _really_ unhappy about there being a supervillain present.

But the inevitable stories of showtunes and impromptu leapfrog games told over salmon martinis in the Fearsome Dive would just have to be ignored.

There was another reason he didn't want to listen to Camille right now. That meant acknowledging her presence, and the fact that even she was infected, even with her metamorphic abilities. He could admit that it was a little fascinating, and the two of them made a pact to make sure Bushroot never found out about it, but it didn't bode well for everyone else. The neighborhood that Frogduck set up shop in was already starting to report symptoms of a weird "flu."

They were running out of time. And Camille's constant complaining was not helping.

"Hey, are you lissstening to me! Don't you zone out, you cssharalatan ssscientist!"

Maybe he should just give it up. This wasn't so bad. St. Canard could be his very own lily pad to bounce around in at his leisure. He could even get Crimson to join in – that would clear up her tron troubles right away. They'd be happy and carefree, and letting go would be so easy…

He had to resist. The cure was on its way. All he had to do was monitor the amphient levels as the serum hit the final stages.

It was monotonous work for only the most lily-livered, but he had to do it. He had to keep himself together. The whole thing would frogment at any minute without proper supervision, and the walls were slimy and green and ribbit _ribbit_ _ribbit_ _ **ribbit…**_

"No!" Another croak. "Focus!"

He couldn't fail, not again. Everyone was counting on him, even if they didn't know it yet. _Gosalyn_ was counting on him, even if right now she didn't care. She… they… all of them needed him. He let her become a monster. He wouldn't let her become a frog. She would never frogive him.

Besides, and what good would he ever be to her as an insane, half-frog madman like the others?

No. He was finishing this. For her. End of story.

And then, he was tossing anything green he could get his hands on out the blasted window…

* * *

 _McDuck Industries St. Canard Headquarters,_

"That doesn't explain anything!" Crimson whined like a child. Clearly, she wasn't fond of Darkwing's coy and award winning misdirections. "I was looking forward to Techno being here. Now, when I butcher all of you, there'll be an empty place in my heart."

She glared at Darkwing with a smile. "But don't worry, there's a special place in there for you, which might just make me feel better…"

"Not today, Evil Crimson," he growled, furious – though not at her. _Never_ at her.

That dropped the smile off her face but quick. "When I said that was 'better,' I didn't mean 'start using it all the time!' You should know me better than that!" She turned to NegaHonker with a frosty look. "I'm gonna start killing them now, unless that gets in the way of some 'brilliant' plan of yours…"

The masked mercenary chuckled. "Be my guest."

"Yeah. Hard pass."

The Masked Mallard, who Crimson had been largely ignoring up to that point, finally made his move. He grabbed the Duck brothers and pulled them sharply to the entrance. "I don't think so, villains!"

NegaHonker, who _had_ been paying attention to the Mallard while Crimson did her gloating routine, tried to take a shot but was knocked roughly out of the way.

"Sorry, Darkwing!" The Mallard yelled over his shoulder, above the protests of the unsettled brothers. He didn't look back: if he allowed himself to, he would feel the urge to stay and help. But they couldn't all stay there, not any more. "I'll take _these_ two, you take _those_ two!"

"Exactly what I was thinking!" Darkwing called back. NegaHonker shouted something along the lines of "not letting that happen," but whatever attack he had planned was interrupted by the sound of Darkwing's foot colliding with his mask. Then a second later, the Mallard and the boys heard Darkwing knocked aside himself by Crimson. Everything got indistinct after that.

The fight was on behind them. But they had other things ahead of them to worry about. Like the horde of pirates on the other side of the door.

"Huey! Dewey!" The Mallard shouted, whirling kicks and spinning blades as they charged through the room. Pete was missing now, which was a big help – but also very worrying. "Are there any other security features in this place?"

"You kidding?" Huey quipped, as he bonked a pirate who got too close on the noggin. "It's a Scrooge McDuck security system. This thing's got more kooky moving parts than a grandfather clock!"

Dewey nodded. Unlike the other two, he was a bit less physical and was just trying to avoid getting hit. "We can't activate the bigger stuff from here, though. We need to get to a security terminal!"

"Then! Let's! GO!" The Mallard charged through the group of pirates, flinging the rest aside like bowling pins. With a path open that one could drive a truck through, the other two boys slipped through just as easily.

Huey sped up to match the Mallard's pace, impressed. "Man of action, huh?"

The Mallard caught himself. For a second, he nearly slipped into his old brotherly banter, but stopped himself. He didn't want to do that. Not yet. So instead, he said simply, "it's a living," and ran on, ushering the two to follow.

Behind his back, the brothers shared a glance, but neither of them said anything either.

* * *

 _Back In The Conference Room_

This was exactly why Darkwing never let Crimson add heavy weapons to the Avenger.

Well, maybe not this _precise_ scenario, but scenes like this did run through his nightmares every time his daughter had asked. Especially when she was first starting out.

Explosions. Maniacal cackling. More explosions. Wanton property damage, largely caused by even _more_ explosions… he could swear there was brimstone dripping from the ceiling. Not that he was sure: he didn't get any chance to check: not with him having to dodge missiles every two seconds.

He really hoped Scrooge McDuck didn't send him a bill for this. Sure, to be very technical, this problem wouldn't have existed without him, but…

"How do you like my new ride, _dad?"_ Crimson was taunting, though as much as Darkwing wanted to hear his daughter's voice – his _real_ daughter, no offense to NegaCrimson – he knew he had to tune it out. She was standing by the bike – the "NegAvenger," apparently – using a remote to idly shoot rockets from it as if she were playing a video game "I thought the old one was too conservative! Can't believe I ever rolled out the tower without one of these! _"_

She pressed a big red button on the remote, and a flamethrower erupted from the front in addition to all the missiles and bombs already being thrown around. That explained the brimstone, at least.

It was just them at the room now. The pirates had all either gone after the boys or went scrambling for their ship the moment the rockets started flying. Darkwing didn't blame them. In fact, he wished he could _join_ them.

He didn't respond to her taunts, which made him both proud of himself and feel awful at the same time. He had to analyze. The shots were flying all over the place, with only a few of them directly aimed at him. Not that he thought he was getting any kind of mercy from the tron-addled Crimson – he had learned too much from Techno's experience the week before to believe that. They were likely a distraction. One or both of them was going to sneak attack him when his guard was down.

So his guard wouldn't _be_ down. Simple as that.

Crimson noticed his silence, and only seemed encouraged by it. "Oh, what's wrong? Did I make you mad at me?" She put on a false sadness. "I didn't mean to. That's my curse: too much spirit."

He stumbled, and almost took a fire blast to the face. She almost got him with that one. It was _hideously_ below the belt, and he had to remind himself not to blame his daughter for it. She _wanted_ him to act that way. "You're not yourself, Crimson. Nothing you do could make me hate you. You might as well stop trying."

She made a choked, affronted sound, and Darkwing allowed himself a smirk. Who even said he couldn't dish it out as well as he took it?

"Don't listen to him, Gos." Came a voice directly behind him. Darkwing nearly jumped: he had lost track of NegaHonker. "He's just mad that you'd rather be with me than in his shadow."

 _That_ made a burst of fury fly through him. Forgetting himself, he spun around and grabbed NegaHonker by the collar. The face of one of his closest allies aside, this was the brat who took his daughter from him. And he had the _nerve_ to say she _wanted_ to be like this? To use her name, like he _knew_ her?

"You don't talk about her like that!" He shouted into NegaHonker's grinning face, raising his fist to pound that smug look into the floor.

A second later, _he_ was the one on the floor instead – head spinning, and pride cursing his mistake. In his rage, NegaHonker had easily outmaneuvered him.

And the mercenary was enjoying every minute of it. "Tsk tsk. You need to work on your technique," he chided, in a way that reminded Darkwing of all the times Techno argued for better equipment... not that it did his mind good to wander right now. NegaHonker pulled out his hand cannon and aimed it at Darkwing's neck. "Oh, wait. I guess you won't get the chance."

Suddenly he was pushed aside, and Crimson too his place. "Mine." She said – simply, but sharply enough to leave no argument. She picked Darkwing up off the floor and, in a single motion that would have made him proud otherwise, threw him towards the NegAvenger before he could grapple.

In a flash she was there again, pressing him against the front of the bike – right, as Darkwing was uncomfortably aware – in front of the flamethrower.

"It really is a shame, dad." She said, in a way that sounded genuine. It probably _was_ from her twisted point of view. "I did want to zap you, once we got the Manipulator working again. But NegaHonker has a point. Even if he is _never to call me Gos!_ _ **Ever!**_ "She turned and snarled at her partner, who actually took a step back, before turning back to Darkwing as though nothing had happened. "The bird has to leave the nest some day. That's what every parent wants, right? And I can't do that with you over my shoulder all the time."

She hovered her finger over the remote's red button. He gulped. So she _was_ planning to barbeque him! He mentally went over all his options. His gadgets, some maneuevers, some slick counter moves… but every time he thought of something, he saw her eyes track to whatever he was thinking of, preparing for its use. He had taught her too well: she knew what he was going to do before he did.

She laughed. "Yep, yep, yep. You're plucked, pop." The maniacal glint that he was starting to get _too_ used to seeing in her eyes was back. "If it's any consolation, I'll always remember you."

Well, there was nothing for it. This was going to hurt…

"You don't want to do this, Gos," he sighed. He knew Techno had already tried this tactic, and he expected nothing less than a brick wall, but he supposed he had to try. So some small part of her at least knew he wouldn't stop fighting for her.

She stared incredulously into his eyes, as though pitying him for even trying. "Now now," she chuckled. "Just because I haven't thought of a good new name yet, doesn't mean you get to call me by my useless old one. You know, like it still matters."

It didn't work, but that was fine. He would take pitying mockery for now. At least he could see her face. "I love you."

"Aww!" She cooed, slowly pushing on the button. "Me too."

"For the love of… look down, for Negaduck's sake!"

At NegaHonker's shout, Crimson's eyes widened. Her eyes shot downward, but it was too late. The two of them weren't the only masters of distraction around here: using her reaction to his heartfelt pleas, Darkwing had taken the moment to draw his gas gun. Shooting it at her or at his feet probably wouldn't help his situation, but he could think of one place that might.

Like he said, this was going to hurt.

He fired the gun directly behind him. A second too late, Crimson pushed the button. And at once, the flamethrower exploded.

Not with fire and death, fortunately. The gas pellet lodged in its barrel caused it to backfire. The weapon charred _itself_ to bits, belching gas in every direction and launching both himself and Crimson into the air.

Yet another way Darkwing defined "singed, but triumphant!" Still stung like the dickens, though.

In the chaos, Crimson landed roughly to the ground while NegaHonker whipped about trying to keep eyes on his enemy amidst the gas and explosive force. The NegAvenger was damaged but intact, and Crimson was merely stunned – though her remote was shattered. But Darkwing was suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?" He roared. "You let him go!"

"Oh s-shut up," Crimson hissed, wincing from the impact as she doused the strands of hair that were still on fire. She jumped to her feet and joined NegaHonker in scouring the room, though not before shoving him again. "C-come on out, Dad!" She said in a low, threatening whisper. "Your baby girl wants to see you!"

They were answered by an enormous groan from the windowed wall.

"Right here, slugger."

The Thunderquack's engines were up, and its jets were flaring. It was in hover mode, but that was still enough to push through the walls of the building like paper mache. Scrooge would definitely be on Darkwing's case about this.

The room was large enough that the Thunderquack could move around above the floor without smacking into anyone, who gave Darkwing a wonderful idea. While NegaHonker and even Crimson stumbled back in surprise below, he maneuvered the plane to be directly above them.

The weapons systems were still offline – thanks, Launchpad – but there was more than one way a super-plane could subdue a pair of dangerouns targets.

He did say this would hurt. Though still more him than anyone else. "Sorry about this, Gos."

Crimson got a brief second to let out an annoyed "oh, swell…" before the Thunderquack quickly descended.

After checking the sensors to make sure he got his quarry, and that they were undamaged, Darkwing took a moment to bask in his victory. He didn't _enjoy_ landing a jet plane on his daughter, exactly – NegaHonker he couldn't care less about – but he knew from experience that the Thunderquack could land on a person without seriously harming them.

Way too much experience, really, but that was hardly important. And from the stream of muffled expletives and hateful commentary coming from beneath it would take something completely unexpected to get them out of there now.

"And that's a job well done. Guess that's one trick you didn't know about." He said, even though neither of them could hear him. Wincing a bit, he rubbed the side that the explosion hit him on. "Mostly because it's _really_ bad for the ol' back."

"No…" he mused. "How to get you out of there and back to SHUSH…"

He never got a chance to figure it out. Elsewhere, something completely unexpected was happening. Though from his point of view, the world just turned topsy turvy…

* * *

 _Deeper Inside the Building, Shortly Before_

Huey, Dewey and the Masked Mallard raced through the corridors, pirates in pursuit. There were less of them than before – lots were licking their wounds back on their airship – but there were still enough to be a serious problem, and they were only a few hallways back. They needed to do something to clear the place out, and they needed to do it fast.

After what seemed to the Mallard like ages of endless, identical hallways,

Dewey finally shouted "There! A security terminal!"

The Mallard supposed that, what with the threat of Glomgold sending spies or an inevitable Beagle Boy attack, this place was _supposed_ to be confusing and monotonous – usually, Scrooge's places were very vibrant and old fashioned. The terminal itself was just s half-hallway split off from the main hall, with a trio of monitors separated from everything else by a thick glass door.

When Huey and Dewey approached, they waved their keycards and the doors opened. Two of the monitors turned on, and the boys raced towards them.

"We just need to set up the measures and put our passwords in, and we'll be golden," Dewey said. His fingers flew across the keyboard, with Huey's not far behind.

"Two passwords? Both at the same time?" The Mallard said. "Seems like overkill."

"Actually, there are supposed to be three," Huey muttered, jerking his head towards the third, unused monitor. "But… we had to change it. For now."

The Masked Mallard didn't know what to say to that, so he turned away. And saw something very unpleasant. Pete was back. And the other pirates had caught up. And they looked ticked off.

"You boys've given me the runaround _too_ much. And _you!"_ He glared at the Masked Mallard. " _You've_ got a beatin' coming to ya so bad that even _I_ don't wanna think about it."

"Just you come and try it, Petey!" The Masked Mallard declared, drawing his sword. Evil will never win against the Masked Mallard!" He stepped in front of Huey and Dewey, prepared to hold the line all by himself and not betraying a hint of anxiety about it. At least, not to the crooks in front of him. "Though whatever you guys are about to do, I'd do it. Like, _now!"_ He added in a whisper to the boys – it'd be no good for the pirates to think he was just a _tiny_ bit nervous right now.

"Boy, do ya hear this shrimp's braggin'?" Pete laughed in a booming cackle, along with whatever crewmates weren't too sore or too angry to join in. "I think I'll beat that outta ya first!"

"You won't lay a finger on him!" Huey shouted. Sharing a look with Dewey, the two Duck boys put their fingers down at the exact same moment.

There was a whir, then a click, and all at once everyone was floating to the ceiling. Or to be precise, everything metal was floating, dragging everyone holding on to them along for the ride,

Huey and Dewey were prepared: they simply discarded their phones and any other extra metal bits and pieces, and dropped safely to the ground before they even lifted a few feet. The Masked Mallard, on the other hand, yelped as he was jerked upwards by the hilt of his sword – and it was only after seeing his brothers calmly avoid the pull that he reluctantly let it go, hoping it wouldn't be chipped when he gave it back to Panchito.

But the pirates, on the other hand… punk rockers and metalheads have nothing on the brigands of the airways. Gold jewels, gold teeth, swords, knives, daggers, scabbards, bludgeons, pistols, the occasional commemorative stein, all of them were essentials in the life of a pirate. And all of them took their owners shooting upwards like blubbering rockets.

But the best of all was Pete, whose was spun completely upside down and left dangling from his peg leg, shouting at the other pirates to help him down.

Unlike the Ducks boys, including the one in disguise, the pirates learned their lesson about letting material possessions go a little too late. They dropped from the ceiling like stones, which really looked like it hurt. Pete was forced to detach his leg and plummed to the ground headfirst, where he landed on an unfortunate pirate who hadn't been wearing any metal that day.

The Mallard tried not to laugh _too_ hard. Which was more than he could say for either of the boys behind him.

"And there's more where that came from!" Dewey yelled, once the groaning band of crooks all hit the floor. "What do you want next! The Masher? The Rainbow Connection? The Containment Cell of Progress? Your choice!"

It sounded like a bluff, though the Mallard had no idea whether or not it was one. A downside to not being with his family as Louie meant that he didn't really know how anything around here worked. But he hoped it wasn't. The pirates were weaponless and licking their wounds, but so was he, and he didn't like his chances against Pete in a hand to hand fight. He was, after all, just a guy with above average fencing skill and a flair for the dramatic, against a guy who had been knocking heroes' heads in since before he was born.

But much to his relief Pete, without sword or pistol and missing a foot, seemed to have had enough of fighting too. Hopping on one foot, he directed the other pirates to stop the attack.

A pair of them instantly ran to his side and helped him stand. "We'll settle this later, boy!" He grunted, and he let them guide him towards the exit – yanking along a lone pirate who was still floating in midair, trying to keep his goggles from flying away.

"Should we go after him?" Dewey whispered. But the Mallard shook his head, and to his surprise so did Huey.

"You do what you want," Huey said, chuckling. "But I'm gonna find myself a couch and sleep for a week…"

Dewey snorted, then started to laugh too. And the Masked Mallard couldn't help it: he had to join in…

* * *

 _Back at the Thunderquack,_

Unfortunately, elsewhere the situation was no laughing matter. The magnetic pulse that trapped the pirates had the opposite effect on Darkwing's situation. The Thunderquack – made mostly of metal, as most jets are – was not immune to the security system's magnetic personality.

It floated in the air. And so did Darkwing, inside the cockpit – thanks to carrying every gadget in the book, and then some. He was caught by surprise, plus not wearing a seatbelt, and ended up on the roof of the cockpit, far away from the controls.

But more importantly and so much worse, Crimson and NegaHonker were free. They were floating to the ceiling too, but the thing about Crimson that Darkwing had always been so proud of – her sharp wits and quick, impulsive action – again became her most dangerous quality.

She realized the situation at once, and thought of a way to get out of it right away. While Darkwing was still reaching for the Thunderquack's controls, she grabbed NegaHonker and shot her "gas" gun in the opposite direction of the NegAvenger, which was clinging to the ceiling. The momentum sent them straight to it, and once they were there she quickly tapped the controls. The bike's missiles wouldn't be able to go too far, thanks to the mangets, but they could be redirected.

Darkwing braced himself, preparing for impact, but the missiles weren't being aimed at him. They were turning to the ceiling, right next to the bike in fact.

At this point, NegaHonker's brain finally caught up to what his partner was doing. "What're you…" He stammered, still loopy from the ascent. "Wait, you're not… _not agai-"_

There was another terrific explosion, and the bike launched off the ceiling as if shot from a cannon, spinning like a top as it careened straight out the gaping hole the Thunderquack made in the wall – Crimson laughing maniacally as NegaHonker screamed his head off. The last Darkwing heard of them was a haunting "bye daaad!" echoing through the city as the NegAvenger righted itself and went rolling over the rooftops, trailing smoke in its wake.

Then there was no contact from anyone at all for another ten minutes. When the Masked Mallard returned with the Duck brothers, Darkwing was _still_ stuck on the roof of the Thunderquack. By that point, he had given up on reaching the controls. But he hadn't gotten any less mad about it.

"Okay," he bellowed, making the three grown ducks cower behind each other in sheepish surprise. "Someone want to tell me who the joker was that _stuck me to the ceiling?!"_

Huey and Dewey glanced at each other and gulped.

"Um… heh… oops?"

* * *

 _Outside McDuck Industries Headquarters, A Forty Five Minutes Later,_

"All's well that ends well, huh?"

Words to live by, in this case. Getting rid of the pirates was only the first hurdle. Disengaging the magnetic security field, then cleaning out any straggling pirates who missed their ride home, plus the business of getting the Thunderquack out from inside the conference hall without further damaging the building? That was long work, monotonous and _totally_ exhausting (and to think, it was still early). And that was all _before_ the tidal wave of concerned cops, pushy fire and safety personnel (who wouldn't take "it's _probably_ not going to rain debris onto the sidewalk" as an answer) and an endless, ungodly horde of reporters started shoving their way inside the McDuck HQ.

Needless to say, the heroes of the day needed a break. Which was why they slipped off at the first opportunity, and all ended up together on a nearby roof together.

Dewey was leaned against a billboard, sighing contently and feeling surprisingly calm for someone who went through such a tense experience. But his brother – the one not wearing the disguise – didn't quite feel the same way.

"There's a gigantic hole in Uncle Scrooge's shiny new building, Dew," he said. "He's gonna kill us."

Darkwing looked down from his cursory check over the Thunderquack – he wasn't enough of a pilot or mechanic to know how bad the damage was, but he could at least figure out if the autopilot was still working. Below him, the Masked Mallard stood around aimlessly, trying to look dramatic.

"You mean kill _me,"_ Darkwing said grumpily. "And my checkbook. And here I thought I'd never have to owe Scrooge McDuck money…"

"Oh, can it with the 'he's gonna charge me' stuff already!" Huey sneered. "Do you seriously think we'll let you take the rap for this, let alone the expense? Uncle Scrooge has Launchpad Insurance for a reason."

Darkwing couldn't think of a single good reason why any insurance company would ever make a provision for Launchpad, but he would definitely take it.

"And here I thought you didn't like me, Huey," he joked, grinning.

Huey smirked. "Save a guy from being eviscerated by bad guys enough times, and you start to grow on him."

"I just hope Pete learned his lesson about picking his targets more carefully," the Masked Mallard murmured, taking everyone's attention. They all turned to him, though their eyes mostly bounced off of him without reaction. "He's greedy and determined, but he's smart enough to know when to back off."

"We never did find out what he was after," Dewey pointed out. "He just attacked. And nearly shishkebobbed us, at that."

Darkwing tapped his chin. "Given how relentlessly they were after you two, I suspect he was going for a kidnapping," He replied.

"Oh, not one of _those_. Ugh." Huey stuck his tongue out in disgust. "But… wait. That evil Crimson double tried to kill us."

"Kill us? She tried to blow us to bits!" Dewey chimed in. "And she would've gotten away with too, if not for some quick thinking!"

"That 'double' hasn't been the most stable of enemies thus far," Darkwing said flatly, though he was grateful nothing about her true identity had slipped just yet.

The Mallard frowned. Unnoticed, his fingers had tightened over his sword (which Dewey helpfully retrieved from the pile of metallic trash lying in their hallways) at the word 'kidnap." "That just makes her another complication in the fight for justice. Pete and his ilk will try again. And I'll be there to stop him, same as always." Teeth began to show, despite this typically being the part where hero gave a more vainglorious rant instead. "But if he knows what's good for him, he'll stay far away from St. Canard!"

The others stared at him again, especially Huey and Dewey, who didn't seem to know what kind of looks to give him.

"You fight him often, eh?" Huey said quietly.

"Don't you worry about that, civilian," The Mallard responded. "It's my fight, not yours."

There was a pause, short but full of unsaid conversations. Conversations which Darkwing didn't have much patience for right now.

"And speaking of which," he said bluntly, cutting through the silence. "It's about time I got to seeing about a certain lockdown," Darkwing interjected.

"Not to mention the headache we've got due to us from all this," Dewey agreed. He stared back at the building, chuckling. "I wonder if those hounds from the press even know we're gone."

"'Hounds?' You sound like Uncle Scrooge," Huey said. The Masked Mallard snorted under his breath. Dewey and Huey's eyes flickered to him. "But in any case, I think we've procrastinated enough. Let's go give those 'hounds' what they want."

He moved for the fire escape, and Dewey hustled up behind him. Beyond a customary "stay out of trouble!" from the Duck Knight, neither Darkwing nor the Masked Mallard saw them off – in fact, the Mallard was intent on making the goodbye as short as possible, for reasons Darkwing could easily figure out – not that he completely agreed with them.

Instead, the Mallard stiffly turned his back to them, looked to Darkwing and let out a big, relieved sigh. "That… was tough…" he said, wiping his brow – though Darkwing didn't miss him also wistful frown. His eyes were downcast, like he was lost in thought.

Darkwing glanced behind him, and smirked. "It's not over yet." Confused, the Mallard turned around… and nearly jumped out of his skin.

Dewey was standing right there. Huey was a little ways back, watching him with a thin lidded indifference, or at least what looked like indifference – with Huey, you couldn't always be sure.

Dewey stepped up to the masked swordsman, who tried not to gulp. "It's the… uh… 'Masked Mallard,' right?" He said, a bit unsure. "Can I ask you something?"

The Mallard tensed, but schooled himself into what at least looked like a normal hero's character. "Er… what is it, citizen?" He said, doing the same falsely deep voice he tried before. "No… um… no need to thank me. All in a day's work, you see. Fighting for justice and all that."

"And I'm grateful. We both are. Really. But that's not what I wanted to say. It's just… we…" Dewey looked up, and the Mallard was struck by the way his brother looked _straight_ into his eyes. "We want you to do us a favor."

This was totally unexpected. The Mallard glanced nervously at Darkwing, who was watching the scene avidly. But rather than jump in or change the subject, Darkwing just gestured for him to turn back around.

So the Mallard pushed the awkwardness away and cleared his throat. "Anything. What kind of favor?"

"We've got a brother out there. He's… in a wayward place right now, but we're cool with that. He's gotta do his own thing." The Mallard froze. If Dewey noticed, it didn't stop him. "But we haven't heard from him in a while, and we know Darkwing's looking out for him, but we'd love it if you could find him yourself and give him a message for us."

" _W-what?_ I…"

It wasn't visible beyond his mask, but the Masked Mallard's were so wide now it was starting to hurt. He turned away, trying to hide his expression, and looked desperately back to Darkwing again. But again, Darkwing wasn't about to be helpful with this. He shrugged, and just started filing his nails.

"I-I mean, of course!" The Mallard said out the corner of his mouth, unsure of what else to do. "I'm sure he's just fine." He said the last part softly, even reassuringly, or as best he thought he could without dropping the act.

Dewey seemed to get the message just fine. He smiled, softly. "I've got a feeling you're right. But if you see him, let him know we love him, okay?"

"Yeah," Huey piped up from behind him. He too was looking away, staring at the ground with a frown. "And tell him to stop being a selfish jerk and call us. Weeknights, after six. All day on weekends."

Now that that was said, Huey seemed to have had enough delay. He turned and walked briskly to the fire escape, waving lazily for Dewey to follow. "After we get the reporters out of here, I'm off to find that couch. Come on, Dew. Uncle Scrooge is going to want loads of paperwork, too."

Dewey laughed, and rushed off after his brother. "Yeah right, bro. You do your part, or you're gonna get it!" He hesitated for a moment, then turned back. "Thanks as always, Darkwing. And…" he looked to the Masked Mallard, still smiling despite how obviously uncomfortable he'd made the hero. "… thanks to you, too. Don't be a stranger!"

Then he turned back to his brother, and the two were gone. Darkwing and the Mallard could hear them laughing and arguing each other all the way down the escape, before they finally faded off into the city.

This time, the Mallard didn't turn his back. He kept staring at the spot they left, stammering wildly. "You… you don't think… they didn't…"

"Well, they _are_ your brothers.

"But why didn't they… no, they couldn't have. That was just a coincidence."

"If you say so. I don't really have the time for personal crises. I've got a lockdown to check up on."

As if on cue, there was a high pitched buzz from Darkwing's communicator. Darkwing quickly tuned it to the right channel, and Techno's voice echoed through. He came in clear, but sounded _awful:_ weary and hoarse, with the occasional slurring of his words that came with exhaustion.

" _Darkwing! I just got the alert about the pirate attack. Is everything alright? Do you need backup?"_

"We're fine, though the Thunderquack could use some tender love and care." Darkwing chuckled. "But forget that, what happened to you?"

There was a pause. _"Oh, just a minor endemic biohazard."_ Techno said awkwardly, hiding a cough. _"It took some doing, but we have it under control now."_

"Endemic biohazard?" Those were not words ever Darkwing associated with "under control." "You expect me to believe that's a 'minor' problem? _"_

" _Like I said, it's taken care of."_ Techno insisted. _"The tower is still being disinfected and afflicted areas are receiving treatment. We're unlikely to have any serious problems going forward."_

Darkwing frowned. Without any further information, he would have to take Techno's word for it for now. "Any complications?"

" _Not many. I mean, this has distracted me from my tron research for far too long. Not to mention the time it took to extract and return Camille without any security leaks, likewise Dr. Lovell. Morgana and Dr. Merriweather are still recovering at Mallard residence with NegaCrimson, if you want to talk to them."_

Darkwing choked. "Camille the Chameleon? Morgana? Chris? What the heck were you dealing with, Tech?"

 _"Put briefly, Frogduck."_

Well, that put things into perspective. At least about the _kind_ of crazy the others had to deal with. Though it raised about as many questions as it answered.

Ever the dutiful one, Techno at least seemed aware of how strange this was sounding and continued more apologetically. _"I don't mean to be evasive, it's just that it's too much to be toad – sorry, I mean_ _ **told**_ _over the radio. I'll brief you later, but I'm glad you weren't in too much trouble without us."_

"Yeah…" Darkwing said, accepting this. "Glad you're okay too. Get some sleep."

" _I won't."_

He nodded. "I know. Darkwing out."

He turned the communicator off and looked to the Masked Mallard, who hadn't been _too_ obvious about eavesdropping. "Like I said, I've got a mess to be briefed on."

The Mallard hopped forward. "Does this mean I get to come with you to your headquarters?" He said, unable to keep the childish excitement away. "Maybe… meet your team?"

Darkwing stared at him for a long time, thinking. Finally, he bluntly replied.

"No."

The Mallard flinched back, gasping. "Aw, w-what? But I…"

Darkwing sighed. "Look, kid. You're good at this. Really good. But… the issues you have with your family, they're serious." The Mallard's expression twisted in offense, but Darkwing raised a hand and kept going. "This is obviously tearing you up inside. I'm not going to enable you in denying it. You're clearly looking for the Justice Ducks 2.0 – bad enough the first time around, but that's not the point. It's never going to work until you center yourself."

"You keep secret identities!" The Mallard shouted, defensively. "All of you! What makes you different!"

A childish argument, but not an inaccurate one. "Yes, we do." Darkwing said calmly. "But none of us do that in a way that breaks us apart from the people we care about. Trust me, the moment you start doing that, you just bring unnecessary pain into your life." The Mallard opened his mouth of object, but Darkwing kept talking through it. "Can you honestly tell me you're just keeping a life outside your family, no strings attached? That you're not just _using_ this life to avoid them?" The Mallard fell silent, and Darkwing went for the parental trump card: the soft, mildly disappointed voice. "It's killing you, Louie." At the hero's surprised look, he added. "Metaphorically of course."

A couple arguments flashed through the Masked Mallard's head, but none of them seemed to work. So he deflated, instead. "I… I don't think I'm going to tell them any time soon," he insisted, more than a little stubbornly.

"You don't have to. You could start with talking to them." Darkwing said. He hopped into the pilot seat of the Thunderquack, and started up the engines. "Take it from someone who knows: you have to appreciate your family while you still have the chance. And if you don't, and you get distracted, you're liable to get yourself killed. _Not_ metaphorically."

Darkwing closed the cockpit, cutting the Masked Mallard off with one last thing. "Just think about it, kid." The engines flared, and the Thunderquack rose off the roof – shakily, given the damage it took, but with little problems.

It rocketed into the distance, smoke trails in its wake, leaving the Masked Mallard behind on the roof with nothing and nobody around but his own thoughts.

It didn't take long for those thought to get to be too much. The Mallard – Louie – was never much for introspection. He was always a talker, and a doer. He hadn't let himself acknowledge how much he had been missing that, all these months.

Unable to take the silence for another second, he pulled out an old fashioned radio from inside his cape. His communications system was a lot less high tech than Darkwing's, but it got the job done.

"El Gallo Loco?" he called. "Come in El Gallo Loco."

" _Hola, patitio!"_ Panchito's cheerful voice came through the other side _. "All's clear here, besides Cloudkicker complaining about the open seas."_

In the background, he could just barely hear Kit wheezing about preferring the air. He smiled, despite how he felt.

" _So how did it go? Did you get what you needed from Pete's grandson?"_

And there went the smile. "It went…" he paused. There was too much to explain. "Let's just say things got a lot more complicated. But… that's not what I wanted to say."

" _Oh?"_ He could hear Panchito snap from airy to concerned in a heartbeat. _"What goes on, nephew?"_

"Nothing huge. It's just… I think you were right, all along." He looked back to his brothers' building, sighing. "When I get back, I think I'm ready to talk…"

* * *

 _Elsewhere, Far Above Calisota,_

When Crimson and NegaHonker reboarded the pirates' airship, which as of yet did not have a cool name (naming conversations typically resulted in brawls and violence, as did most things with pirates, but the consensus except from one was that it _wouldn't_ be called "Pete's Mighty Fist"), they were still disheveled and slightly on fire in places from the hectic fight.

And still arguing about it, besides.

"… you nearly crashed us into a building. Several!" NegaHonker was screeching as they stomped across the deck.

"I didn't see you getting us out of there," Crimson stewed. As usual, she would rather have been anywhere but listening to her "partner" prattle on.

"We wouldn't have needed extraction if you had followed my lead!" He went on. "But no, you had to finish Darkwing yourself! You got us, _and_ the war machine we spend resources making for you, blown up!"

"The NegAvenger is fine." She said. "It just needs a fresh coat of paint."

" _A fresh coat of paint?!_ You…"

They were stopped at the front of the deck by Pete – now using a spare leg – and a crowd of pirates. Most of them looked like they were nursing a few fractured limbs, but common sense about medical problems never stopped piracy before.

"Trouble in paradise?" Pete grinned. He chomped on a big cigar, laughing rings of smoke.

"Eugh, don't even joke about that," Crimson said, throwing NegaHonker a disgusted snarl. "Status report?"

"Cost a lot to do this," Pete said. "But I'd say it worked out."

"So I'm guessing your little minion actually used the tech I let you borrow?"

Pete waved his hand, and a small pirate – the same one who had been clinging to his goggles back in the fight – stepped forward. He handed the goggles over to Crimson, who looked into the lenses with increasing glee.

The entire fight was running on playback, from the diminutive pirate's point of view. It was quite the show, and she would have some real fun watching the action later – even if she did lose in the end, which was _not_ something she enjoyed – but for now there was a specific image she needed to find. Tapping the side, she fast forwarded the recording, going through Darkwing and the Mallard beating the pirates, to the chase through the halls and ending… finally… just before the magnetic trap went off.

The pirates had reached the fleeing ducks just in time. The Masked Mallard was looking away, unaware of their presence. And more importantly, Huey and Dewey Duck were typing their passwords into the security consoles… and the goggles captured the buttons they were pressing.

It took a bit of enhancing, but after a few minutes she made out the keyed phrases. "HubertDL38" for Huey. "HDeuteronomyL87" for Dewey.

"Thank you, Techno!" She squealed, hooting with laughter. "Who could've guessed useful these old binoculars would be!"

NegaHonker snorted. "Yes, your plan was actually a success. Who'd've thought?"

Her smile fell. Crimson turned slowly, silently, to NegaHonker, a glare behind her mask that was so intense he was actually taken aback, if only for a moment. "I wouldn't underestimate me, Mr. I'm Only In Charge Cause There's Nobody Else." She hissed, her voice a low, threatening growl. "Your boss did, and look where that got him."

NegaHonker tightened his fists. "You dare you…"

"Ahem…" Pete said curtly. "The point of all this, if ya please?" The other pirates voiced their agreement, and confusion. After all, pulling a raid and stealing nearly nothing was alien to them.

"Are you serious?" NegaHonker said. "We now have complete access to McDuck's network… at least on the St. Canard side!"

Pete rudely blew a smoke ring in his face. "Do we look like Beagle Boys?"

"Think about it, Pete. You're an old hat at this, you know a well developed plot when you see it!" NegaHonker said, doing an admirable job of keeping his composure. "Now that they know _we're_ involved with your lot, SHUSH is going to want in on this. But neither Scrooge nor his nephews are going to _ever_ agree to them controlling a collaboration. He's going to want access. Access to SHUSH that _we're_ going to be able to piggyback onto!"

Pete rubbed his shaggy chin. "Messin' with SHUSH _is_ an old tradition for this outfit, if I know my history right." He admitted. "And I suppose you've got reasons fer wantin' that to happen?"

"Yes." NegaHonker said. "Yes I do. But it will also mean scores of plunder for you."

Pete shrugged, and at the word "plunder" the other pirates cheered – being an easily satisfied lot. "Alright. I'm startin' to see the gears in motion." Suddenly, he grabbed NegaHonker about the collar and yanked him into his face. "But if ye don't deliver, or even if call me 'old' again, you'll be goin' overboard."

NegaHonker didn't so much as flinch, though he did scowl when Crimson started laughing. He calmly grabbed Pete's arm and eased himself back to the ground. "Don't you worry, Captain. You'll be paid. Although…" He brushed himself away and stopped to think. "… we can expect both SHUSH _and_ Darkwing to be after us now. We should be prepared for them to start catching up to our plan."

Crimson rolled her eyes. "We are. We know where they'll have to go next, and in case you've forgotten, we already taken care of that."

"Well, your plans worked once. I suppose we could see if they work again," NegaHonker said disdainfully, ignoring the way Crimson gnashed her beak at the sound of his voice.

"Speaking of which…" she said to Pete, pulling herself away from the thought of throttling her counterpart. "Did you get the thing I requested."

"Sure…" Pete said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a file folder. "But I don't know why you ever care about it. It's just some old junk from McDuck's records."

"Oh, trust me," she replied, excited. "You're going to love it." She stuffed the file into her coat, and strode off further into the ship. As she did, she pulled out her modified gas gun, growing a maniacal smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some pure hatred to work out. So I think I'll entertain a 'friend' before my trip…"

She left the deck, cackling as she went. As soon as she was gone, Pete turned to NegaHonker. "She ain't up to anything, is she?" He said warningly.

"Unless we tell you otherwise, _always_ assume we're up to something," NegaHonker said smugly, laughing to himself. He too walked away, not caring about the pirates' response.

For all his new "partners'" laugher, Pete didn't think any of this it was so funny. If it paid well enough he was willing to put with quite a lot, but this all seemed like something that was going to be very unpredictable, and he didn't much like being on the receiving end of that.

Still, he had been through unpredictable before. And every time he, at least, always made it out on top…

* * *

 _That Night, St. Canard Maximum Security Prison for the Criminally Crafty,_

And so, each of the players of tonight's mayhem were able to go home – or what passed for home for them, at any rate – and plan for the future, proceed with some new scheme or just escape to something peaceful they called their own. All except one.

No, deep in the bowels of a specially made, tantalizingly swampy and ever-so comfortable prison cell, there was one who couldn't go anywhere. One who was left with little to do but test the limits of a brand new straightjacket, bounce up and down the walls for the hundredth time, and count his webbed toes over and over again.

And that person was… Frogduck.

"Aw… did they really have to give me the business?" He whined to his companion Keith, who was kindly provided a tiny straightjacket of his own by the staff. "All I wanted to do find a froggy lady to call my own. Everyone _else_ gets romance in their lives! I mean, how are your wife and kids, Keith?"

Keith croaked.

In Frogduck's mind, that was comprehensive and very heartwarming reponse. "Good to hear it. But me? I never get anything like that. And that witchy lady turned me into a frog!" He glanced nervously at his friend, who croaked. "No offense of course, Keith, but I'm Frog _duck!_ Not Frogfrog!"

He slumped down into his cell, sighing. "Yep, every time I just get knocked around. I wish something fun would happen…"

Keith croaked.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, something wildly impossible and incredibly fantastic was happening, something that defied the very laws of reality as many perceived them.

Frogduck, of course, didn't even look at it… at least not until he heard a voice calling.

" **Keith Gideon!"** The voice echoed deeply, yet only two people in the entire prison could hear its words. It came from a door, which seemed to open from nothing at all into a world of pure, green light. Inside was a figure, that looked an awful lot like Darkwing Duck, if Darkwing were part frog.

"Um…" Frogduck stared. He nudged Keith with his elbow, sending the poor frog croaking into the air. "I think he's talking to you, buddy."

" **Sorry…"** the figure said. **"I meant the one they call… Frogduck!"**

"Oh yeah!" Frogduck brightened. "That's me!"

" **You have done what our frogelytizers have prophesied for eons. Your determination, your frogical ingenuity, has opened a ribble in time and space!"** The figure, who Frogduck was already calling Frogwing in his mind, continued. **"You alone have tapped into the mythical… the hidden… the hopalescent Frogverse!"**

"Oh!" Frogduck blinked. "Neat! I knew I was onto something."

" **Yes. Neat. As our emissary from this universe, you must come with me to become our ambassador, and newest Frog Prince!"**

Frogduck hopped to his feet. "Hey! That sounds fun!" He turned to Keith, who was still stunned from his impromptu flight. "Wasn't I just saying I wanted to find something fun! What a crazy coincidence!"

" **Very well then.** **Are you ready, Frogduck, to enter a universe of toadal bliss?"**

"Beam me up, Scotty!" He replied, letting his little buddy – who croaked – hop onto his straitjacketed shoulder as he too hopped for the figure's open arms. "Or are you a tad-Polish..?"

As he entered the doorway into nothingness, a bring green light illuminated the entire room. When it subsided, there was nobody in the cell.

As far as the official records stated, Frogduck and his "assistant" Keith the Frog escaped custody at 11:07 PM. No trace of him was found, even after an exhaustive search by SHUSH personal and – to SHUSH's chagrin – Darkwing Duck himself.

What happened to them, and where they might have gone, none but the most lily-livered would know…

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Frog puns!

After a hectic couple of months here's the next chapter. It might be a bit before I can post another one, but rest assured I have not forgotten any of you.

This is the chapter, especially, where the triplets being based specifically on the Quack Pack versions in this story (planned out before the Ducktales reboot was released) is most important, so here's another reminder about that. In Quack Pack, Dewey was the sardonic smart one, Huey was the churlish but headstrong one, and Louie was the one between them with the big heart - a big part of Louie's journey here involves learning to be proactive like his brothers.

Oddly enough, Louie ended up being my favorite triplet in both Quack Pack _and_ Ducktales 2017, for entirely different reasons. Funny how that works out.

Anyway, Duck (or maybe Cat) Reference of the Day: I do have a mental checklist for whether any particular Pete appearance in anything is the primary villainous Pete, a relative, or an ancestor. For example, as noted by Louie, Captain Pietro from OG Ducktales was the main Pete in disguise. But Dogface Pete and Sharkey, both of which weren't so bad, are not.

Anywho, NegaHonker and Crimson have finally met up with the pirates, and things are about to get crazy - if they're not already. Darkwing and SHUSH are now sure to double down their attempts to root this incorrigible combination out once and for all, but there are **Dark Portents** on the horizon... next time, on Retake Five!


	13. Dark Portents

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **The War on Gosalyn – Dark Portents**

* * *

 _The High Seas, Somewhere Northwest of Cape Suzette,_

For someone who travelled by jet all the time with not a problem – one driven by the world's most landing-impaired pilot, no less – Darkwing was surprisingly ill at-ease on the high seas. Maybe it was because the – as Panchito Pistoles had called it – "ill wind" blowing through the air. Almost like a storm was coming, but it was less meteorological disruption and more rampant paranoia.

Of course, Panchito had also called it the "chill of adventure," so Darkwing supposed a less nautical, more superheroic term was needed. More than just a bad feeling? The inexplicable itch to get dangerous, perhaps.

Problem was, this wasn't supposed to be a "get dangerous" kind of mission. That's why he was on a boat, and not flying to the Air Pirates' secret base in the Thunderquack, turbines to speed and proverbial guns blazing. Instead he was several miles off of Cape Suzette inside the bridge of Panchito's freighter with the Masked Mallard, Kit Cloudkicker and Agent Mia, trying to keep that suspicious feeling down by doing a little debriefing.

"So, we are well and truly in the middle of nowhere, _amigo,"_ Panchito said, one eye on the horizon – the horse was, thankfully for Darkwing's nerves, not at the helm. How Panchito trusted something with hooves to steer was beyond him, though he supposed it was a little hypocritical given that he worked with Launchpad. "So which one of these islands is the banditos' hideout?"

Darkwing peered out the window and studied the map he had been given one more time. There were a several islands around them, but he wasn't looking for any old island. It was something innocuous: something you would immediately see as part of the scenery, so easily that if you were _looking_ for strange it was the obvious pick.

"That one." He pointed at a small island some distance away from the others. "See the radio tower? Looks like a regular old coastguard facility, doesn't it?"

"Coastguard nothing, that's a SHUSH base." Cloudkicker softly observed. He was the only one sitting – Darkwing didn't blame him. The guy looked worse every day. "An old one. I got real acquainted with who is situated where, back when I was first on the run. How long have these rats been out here?"

"A long time. Once SHUSH narrowed their base down to here, they did some research." Darkwing pulled a file out of his vest and peered over it. "Says here SHUSH bought the land from an independent broker: one Gregory Benson."

Kit's eyes narrowed as the name fired up his memory. "I think I know that name."

"You might." Darkwing chuckled, glancing over the papers. "Their file on him brought up some fun anecdotes. Apparently, he used to work for Shere Khan himself, before a messy incident that may or may not have involved your old pal Baloo. Benson wasn't forthcoming during the prerequisite background check, way back when, but evidently Khan Industries has _very_ helpful records."

Kit snorted. "Messy? You could say that. I distinctly remember having to dynamite the guy."

The Masked Mallard, who had said very little throughout the entire conversation, turned to him, eyes wide. "You _what?"_

"In self defense." Kit reassured him, with a shrug. "He did it to himself, really."

"Yeah, well he didn't learn anything from it," Agent Mia added, frowning. She was technically the face of SHUSH authority on this mission, not that she was interested in pushing any weight around. Unlike Darkwing, she had memorized all the prerequisite files, but was content to let the caped canard handle the debriefing for the most part. "And neither did SHUSH. That didn't even put a blip in the background check, apparently, and SHUSH was happy to buy whatever land he was selling."

"After his termination from Khan Industries, Benson went into real estate brokering. Problem was, the guy had no problem doing business unscrupulously. It's only a theory, but I'd say by the time he sold that island to SHUSH, he had _already_ sold it to the Air Pirates."

"Ah. So they were already using parts of it as a hideout!" Panchito said cheerfully, as he so often did in tense situations. "Where better to hide from the spotlight than right behind it, eh? If it wasn't so evil, I might be impressed!"

"It gets worse." Mia said. "Once they managed to set themselves up without SHUSH realizing they were there, they assimilated themselves into the base." She pulled the file out of Darkwing's hands – ignoring his obligatory "hey!" – and opened it to a photo of a large bird in a military uniform standing on the beach with several other officers. "See this fellow?"

Kit scowled. His eyes immediately bypassed the burly officer and trained on the man next to him, a diminutive dog with a slight overbite. "That's Gibber." He said, pointing him out to the others. "He was one of Don Karnage's right hand men, for cripes' sake! You're telling me _nobody_ noticed?"

Darkwing and Mia looked at each other, and each made a mental note to follow up on that later. However, it didn't change the here and now, so Mia continued. "By this point, nearly every agent on that base was either a pirate or on their payroll. I'm sure it wasn't long before this 'Gibber' was struck from records. We were referring to the General."

She pointed to the military bird again. "Homer X. Crossfeather. Investigating him was the big break to figuring all this out. He was hired by SHUSH after what was supposedly a decorated career with few successful Thembrian engagements." She paused, teeth clenched. The idea of her organization being so thoroughly fooled rattled her. "Turns out that was fabricated. He was a smuggler who helped the Air Pirates prey on Thembrian ships. And he got himself installed as head of this outpost after the previous head was lost in an 'unfortunate pilot error.' Yeah, right."

"Meanwhile," Darkwing added. "Benson retired like a king in Duckburg for a few years before mysteriously vanishing from his flat one night."

"No loose ends," Mia nodded grimly.

Kit frowned. It had been a _long_ time ago, and he hardly knew Benson, but the thought of him being done in by his own greed still saddened him. From what little he remembered of the man, he had been a small fish obsessed with glory and the big time. And he had found what he wanted, one way or another, but with a terrible price.

"And they got away with it all this time?" The Masked Mallard shouted, outraged. _"How?"_

Darkwing sighed. At the Mallard's age, he would've felt a lot more of that same wild indignation too. Now… he'd seen way too many cons go on for way too long to be so surprised. "Well… we may have been selling this like some sort of grand conspiracy, but the truth of it is the pirates lucked out." Out the window, the island was much closer: the building the radio tower connected to was far off still, but fully in view. Even from this distance, it looked small. "This outpost isn't a major facility. It's a communications hub, yes. But it's a tiny hub in a part of the world that nobody really thinks about. It's only really here to complete the network: all the important stuff is handled in St. Canard."

Comprehension slowly dawned on the others' faces. "And of course once it was out here, everyone just plain forgot about it," Panchito said slowly. "Roberto is your uncle, or so they say."

Another nod from Agent Mia, albeit with a minor twinge at Panchito's turn of phrase. "And it never occurred to anyone but the Pirates that just because the outpost had no real power, that didn't mean its link with SHUSH's communications wasn't valuable."

"It let them track me down all those years ago. It helped them instantly mount an attack on another SHUSH base that was harboring me. Depending on when this all started, this might have been where they were based when they set up…" he paused, sadly. "... Baloo."

His sympathy for Gregory Benson rapidly diminished. He had no idea if the would-be mogul knew what the Pirates were going to do when he sold them the base, but he was still the one who freely gave them the keys to do so.

"And they've been sitting cushy, unnoticed, all this time," Mia said gruffly. "Well, that's over now."

"I'll say it is," The Mallard declared. He jumped into an action pose and drew his sword dramatically, lifting it aloft like a hero of old. "Let's say we storm the facility and give those scoundrels what for!"

"No, no, no!" Darkwing shouted, gently grabbing the tip of the sword and easing it down the ground. "We can't just go marching in there without any information! We could be waltzing into a meat grinder, even with Techno, Launchpad and NegaCrimson waiting in the wings. We're here to do _reconnaissance first."_

"Ah, yes!" The Mallard grinned pompously, sheathing the sword again. "Intel! Scouting! The hero's best friend!"

"Though probably needless, in this case," Kit pointed out. His mood had taken a sour turn, for obvious reasons. "The first rule of fighting pirates: if you can see them, that means they can probably see you."

"Not if you make sure they only see what _you_ wanted to see," Darkwing replied. He got a little stiff talking to Kit directly. Not because had had anything against the bear, of course. Much the opposite: Cloudkicker's deteriorating health made him _very_ concerned. If Darkwing had his way, all three of the Masked Mallard crew – but especially Kit - would be back at SHUSH Central getting debriefed and staying safe. But despite being civilians, all three were unbearably stubborn.

"Not always easy when you're at a disadvantage, Darkwing." Kit shot back. "They've had decades to make sure that they know everything you might see and where you are when you see it."

"Aha!" Darkwing declared, "but can they see what I see when I'm seeing them outside their line of sight?"

There was a short pause as everyone else tried to process that sentence, finally broken by Panchito – who, everyone finally noticed, had outright left the conversation and moved to the other side of the cabin.

"Good points all around," he said brightly. He peered out of the window, hefting a small telescope. "But what if you don't see anything at all?"

"Huh?" Kit said, speaking for the rest of them.

"Just asking. I decided to so some reconnaissance of my own while you all were overexplaining and arguing and such, and..." Panchito winced, but kept his eyes on the island. "No way to sugarcoat it: they're gone."

" _ **What?!"**_

Everyone who could ran for the window to take a look themselves, Kit staying behind in his chair looking very anxious. Darkwing and Mia – having brought their own surveillance devices – were the only ones who could actually see anything at this distance, but they got the gist quick enough for the other two.

The island was bare. The installation was obviously still there, but there was no one visible on the ground. There were no shadows of furniture inside the windows. No activity at all - not even a bird flying overhead. It was like looking at a ghost town – at least, one shaped like an island.

Caution was immediately thrown to the wind. Forgetting about stealth and subtlety entirely, the others had Panchito speed over to the island to investigate. Once landing, they split up for an exhaustive search, looking over the station top to bottom. And they found a few interesting things: a secret basement under the usual secret SHUSH basement, where an airship might have been stored, living quarters for twice the number of people listed on SHUSH's records, even forges where repairs and smelting might have been done.

But what they didn't find were any airships, tools for any kind of work a pirate might need, or really any people at all. It was as if nothing had ever been there in the first place.

"Well, that's a wrinkle," the Masked Mallard said simply, as they returned to the ship

"That's an understatement if I ever heard one!" Darkwing snapped, somewhat more hectic. "Everything was gone! Not even the crumbs of a peanut butter and banana sandwich!"

"There was definitely no chatter about this island being evacuated over SHUSH's official channels," Mia added, looking very disturbed.

"Think they knew we were coming?" The Mallard offered, more for vocalization than anything.

"Is that even a question?" Kit said gruffly. "Even after more than half a century, they're infuriating!"

Darkwing pulled out his communicator. There was no point in maintaining radio silence if there was no one monitoring them. "To heck with it, I'm calling the Thunderquack."

The Thunderquack was waiting several miles away – too far to be detected if there had been anyone actually looking – with Launchpad, NegaCrimson and Techno in tow. They were supposed to be on standby, just in case the recon turned into a full fight – which, given their history, was more than likely. They expected to only be contacted in the case of an emergency, so it was quite the tense surprise when Darkwing called looking not tense or desperate, but annoyed.

It didn't take long to catch them up on what was going on. They took the disappointment rather well, all things considered.

"Cowards!" NegaGosalyn hissed. "Spineless cowards! After all the trouble they gave us, they turn around and run the moment it looks like we'll return the favor?"

"And I had baseball tickets, too!" Launchpad muttered under his breath.

"On the upside," Kit responded, coming through loud and clear. The two groups were on speakerphone, and would continue to be until the Thunderquack. "They're not exactly at their strongest right now. Without this base, they'll be surviving on that discount airship of theirs."

"But either way, they're still out of our reach." Techno observed. He was looking through any regional data he could find while Launchpad piloted the jet. If any leads could be found, the day could perhaps still be salvaged.

"No matter!" The Masked Mallard said valiantly, as if trying to root him on. "We'll root these villains out wherever they're hiding now, and give those pernicious pirates their final taste of JUSTICE!"

There was a short pause as everyone absorbed that sentence.

On the Mallard's end, Darkwing covered his face to hide his rolled eyes. Was that how people like Louie Duck saw people like him? Being surrounded by such bastions of the superhero community guests clearly hadn't done much for the Mallard's insecurity. It was a sentence right out of his playbook, but he wasn't _that_ cheesy, was he?

The way Kit glanced at him, amused, and the sound of Techno chuckling on the other end of the line seemed to answer for him

Well, he wasn't taking _that_ lying down!

"Let's not get ahead of-"

"Hold up!" Techno muttered. Back on his end, he peered at a notification that had just popped onto the Thunderquack's screens. He gestured for Launchpad to get a second look, and the pilot's raised eyebrows confirmed his curiosity.

"Boy, that's strange," Launchpad said.

Darkwing was on it at once – his pride, to his inner dismay, would have to wait. "What've we got?"

"No sign of the pirates, DW," his sidekick responded, "But there's a signal coming from one of the other islands around here. The Thunderquack is only just picking it up as we got into range."

"Maybe it's meant for whoever was on the island." NegaCrimson said. "You lot did traipse around that whole place – if some kind of trigger were set to go off, you definitely hit it."

"I assure you, we were very stealthy!" The Mallard protested.

"We didn't trip any alarms, at any rate," Mia confirmed. "But who's it from? One of their allies? Or someone new?"

The question seemed to put Launchpad on edge, and he stared at the readings looking uncomfortable. He shared a glance with Techno, who was similarly too surprised by the information to talk. "Uh… well you're not gonna believe this, but the Thunderquack says it's Darkwarrior tech."

"Darkwarrior?!" Both Darkwing and Mia shouted at once. "But he's dead!"

"Who?" The Mallard raised an eyebrow.

His honorary uncle did the same. "Aye. Que?"

Kit, who had been paying a bit more attention to current events while on the run, gestured for them to drop it. "I'll tell you later."

NegaCrimson stood up and paced around the back of the Thunderquack, paying no mind to the turbulence. "Darkwarrior Duck may be well and truly deceased, but there _is_ someone out there who still uses the tech." She paused for dramatic effect (though mentally chided herself for picking up silly habits)."My Warriorverse double."

"The Dark Avenger." Darkwing repeated. "Not the type to work with pirates though, is she?"

"She must have been spying on them, while they were spying on SHUSH." Techno concluded. "And this signal must be for when we caught onto them ourselves."

Though he couldn't see it, his comment put Mia in deep thought. "I don't know, that raises a few more questions than it answers."

"Questions we'll never get answered by staying here." Darkwing turned to the Captain of the ship, who – despite not knowing quite who or what they were talking about – jumped to attention. "Panchito, put this thing in full throttle! Launchpad, meet us there! Let's get dangerous!"

* * *

 _Half An Hour Later, Outside The Surveillance Base,_

The group once again stood in front of a desolate island base. This one was also bare, but unlike the SHUSH installation it seemed like it was supposed to be. There were no false operations going on here: just one nondescript building hidden behind a hilly bluff. It would have been extremely difficult to find, if one hadn't been specifically looking for it.

Luckily, they were. The Thunderquack had been landed conspicuously on the island's beach – no more sneaking around. They had effectively switched places: the Panchito and Kit had finally caved to Darkwing's insistence and stayed back, as unlike the pirates this was a situation in which they had no experience. The ship was out to sea some distance away just in case things with south, and thankfully out of mind where Darkwing was concerned – he didn't need civilians in the way, no matter how much adventuring they had under their belt.

On the flipside, contingent on their playing mission control here was that there would be no objection for the Masked Mallard to come along in their stead, and he supposed he would have to concede to that. He may not be willing to bring him into the fold until he got his personal life under control, but the kid still reminded him too much of himself.

Either way, that's how the entire heroic crew, plus Mia, ended up assembled in front of the sealed entrance to the facility. It was an old fashioned blast door - perhaps this was a failed SHUSH base from decades back, or perhaps a Thembrian spying ground during more… hostile times.

"I assume we're not going in the front door." NegaGosalyn quipped. The door in question was shut tight with blast doors.

"If there's a security system, I could probably crack it," Techno said. "We have loads of experience dealing with Darkverse tech."

Launchpad scratched his head. "So… we _are_ going through the front door?"

The Masked Mallard nodded. "If this Dark Avenger really could be a friend, it seems like the simplest-"

"Not on your life!" Darkwing shouted suddenly. The Masked Mallard shot him a surprised look, but the others only smiled knowingly. "Who knows what mysterious traps and murderous malingerers may be hiding beyond that door?" Quickly, he pulled out his grappling gun and zoomed to the roof of the installation – continuing to shout back to the rest of them. "Fool me once, never again! No more walking into traps! What we need is a… aha! A rooftop opening!"

He gestured for the others to follow, and a few trips later – some needing to be carried – they were all standing around what looked to be an exhaust vent big enough even for Launchpad.

"This _must_ be an old facility," Mia said. "They all had these incredibly conspicuous ventilation systems, big enough you could drive a truck through. Very exposed."

"And here I thought spy movies made those up," Launchpad chuckled. Mia smiled at him, sharing a laugh between them.

"In any case, here we go! " Darkwing said. "If it's an enemy in there, they're in for a surprise. And if it's not… well… what's a little breaking and entering between friends?"

"A bullet in the head, if you're not careful."

Darkwing gave NegaGosalyn a flat look. "Don't be cheeky. Follow me!" And with that he dove straight in, without waiting for any more objections. Techno – intending to go first himself, being that he was able to fly and catch anyone should the fall be dangerous – yelped and quickly dove in after him, just in case the experienced hero's impulsiveness literally landed him in trouble.

The others watched him go, then stared at each other. It was a bit too late to be thinking over the plan, but…

"You guys have fun," Mia said. "But this cat isn't interested in landing on her feet today, and the perimeter still needs checking."

"Fine," NegaCrimson replied. "I suppose with that taken care of, there's no excuse not to-"

She was interrupted by a loud "Geronimo!" as Launchpad waved to Mia and leapt cannonball style into the vent.

"… do that." She finished, chuckling. "You coming?" She asked the Masked Mallard, before jumping in herself and leaving the swordsman alone with Agent Mia.

He smiled sheepishly. "Um… well met, I guess?" He smiled weakly - in his secret identity, he usually loved secret agents: not as much as his brothers, possibly, but they were still a favorite. But being the only around to talk to one was a bit nerve wracking in a real life.

He would just have to have that conversation later. "Simple is overrated, wouldn't you say?" He grinned, with a shrug, and then he then he too jumped into the unknown himself.

Mia sighed. With no one left to say "see you in a minute" to, her job here was done for now. So she turned herself around and fished for some gear for getting to the top of the bluff out of her bag. Nondescript or not, those plateaus would be the best place to see anything nefarious going on.

She should've stayed where she was, for by some twist of luck she managed to turn away just as something vitally important passed behind her back.

In fact, not a single one of them noticed the slight beep as they each passed over the threshold. And now that their entry was over, there was no one to see or hear a door sliding tightly over the vent once the last had gone through…

* * *

 _Inside The Dark Avenger's Lair_

The inside gave the rest of the team a rough landing, but not a dangerous one. The interior was surprisingly light on security – or anything at all beyond the essentials. There were a few very small, very cramped rooms – a bedroll in one, a shower in another, a scant food storage in a third. The primary room is the one they landed in – and the one that would have caught their attention regardless.

"Whoa…" Techno gasped as soon as he could look around. He soon ended up gaping at the wall, so distracted that he forgot why he dove in second and _may_ have let the others hit the ground (he would apologize later). Luckily, it was again a surprisingly light fall – plus they were soon as distracted as he was.

At least half the room was taken up by a massive computer system: it looked to be a surveillance and security console, with one extremely large screen with several lines of information sectioned around it and other smaller ones on the console for navigation or receiving information.

"Someone was _definitely_ monitoring the information going through that outpost," Techno said breathlessly.

"So let me get this straight…" NegaCrimson said, facepalming. "Decades ago, pirates took over that SHUSH base and started spying on SHUSH itself, which they did for decades to hide their operations. At the same time, someone _else_ like, I don't know, the High Marshall of your nasty version of Thembria himself was spying on _them_ , eventually leading to this place getting taken over by the daughter of Darkwarrior freaking Duck? And _nobody_ knew _anything_ about it?"

The others frowned, though it wasn't directed at the masked teen. There wasn't a response for that, at least not a very good one. An old fashioned station like this, a clerical oversight, had completely slipped through the cracks – and that was an unacceptable and inexcusable security breach. They could already tell from Mia's demeanor upon splitting up that she had _not_ been looking forward to the debriefing on this once she got back to headquarters, not to mention the endless meetings about outpost security that would surely follow.

"There's more important things to worry about right now," the Masked Mallard said, preemptively trying to smooth things over - as he didn't know his comrades quite well enough to know how harmless this venting was. "Like where this Dark Avenger is, if she's not here."

It was a good enough point that, harmless or not, NegaCrimson decided to drop the issue - and instead, everyone took up the search. But beyond the rooms they had already seen, there didn't seem to be anything else around. There was a large doorway that led in the direction they knew to be the entrance, but anything else was deadbolted, defunct or shut tight – not even the Dark Avenger could have easily gone through those areas.

She – like the pirates – had seemingly flown the coop. But unlike them, she left some mementos behind.

At the console, Darkwing and Techno fiddled through the computer's folders for a decent clue. Before long, Techno's eyes lit up as he found something with potential. He glanced over the file names, and quickly clicked on the first entry.

"If I'm reading this right," he said, "this might shed some light on a few things." The aging computer whirred to life, and the large screen flickered. The image of the Dark Avenger came onscreen, sitting in front of the console with an impassive look on her face. It was clearly quite some time before: the food stores were high enough to be falling out her makeshift storeroom, and there were no spider-webs on the walls.

" _Dark Avenger Log DA1-52. I am keeping a record of my time in this new base of operations, in case I need to recover important information."_

"A journal?" NegaCrimson asked, eyes narrowed.

"One of many." Techno said. "This one's the first, but there's a lot of entries here."

"And we're just going to sift through all of-"

Before this could go on, Launchpad turned around a shushed them – and the video continued uninterrupted.

" _Also…"_ The Dark Avenger was saying, " _I… need to keep a journal of my thoughts. To my dismay, my experiences with this universe's version of me have completely shaken my point of view."_

She faltered, for only a moment. She looked away, and when she looked back her eyes were anxious.

"… _I'm not sure what I'm here for. If I truly came here for nothing…"_ She trailed off again. A look of pain darted through her. Then she shook herself more forcefully. _"No! I cannot think that way. Justice is always needed, and so shall I be. For now, Dark Avenger out."_

The Masked Mallard made a confused click of the tongue. "Stubborn, isn't she?"

"It's a universal constant, when you're a Crimson," NegaCrimson said with a sort of wry confidence.

Techno nodded, smirking. "I can attest to that." Darkwing and Launchpad gave their agreement as well. The Mallard just stared at them: clearly, he was once again missing something.

"If you say so…" he said slowly, as Techno keyed in to play the next video.

The screened flickered onto the same shot of the Dark Avenger at the console, some time later. The food stores were a little shorter, but otherwise not much had changed.

" _I have managed to establish a backdoor into SHUSH's communications network,"_ she was saying. _"The nearby outpost should allow me to key into SHUSH's vital transmissions, while also remaining under the radar."_

Her eyes flickered across the screen. There were several maps of the SHUSH outpost and pages of information about its capabilities in the computer's database, so it was easy to figure out what she was looking at.

" _Although I must say, this seems to be evidence of a major security failure…"_

The Masked Mallard snorted, assuming she was being concise.

"… _I almost hope SHUSH discovers my presence, if only to close this hole before someone far less amiable than I attempts to make use of it."_

The Masked Mallard now laughed out loud, realizing that it wasn't understatement after all. Darkwing and NegaGosalyn groaned – Darkwing once more slapping his temple in the process.

"So let me get this straight," the Mallard said, half-worried and half-amused. "She was here all this time, she knew this place was a super security risk, she had surveillance on half of SHUSH's information without missing a beat, but she missed that her window in was run by _pirates?"_

"There _is_ a level of irony there, but the occasional bout of tunnel vision _also_ tends to be a universal constant when you're a Crimson," Techno said, with a grim smirk that quickly fell once he finished the thought.

It was a playful jab intended to land with his own Crimson… who wasn't here. And he had tried hard so far not to mistake NegaCrimson's presence as his own. The last thing he wanted to do was to cause an upset.

But NegaCrimson caught the intent, and let it slide. "We get it from our parents," she said gruffly, keeping up the joke.

"Hey, don't blame me for this one!" Darkwing bristled. "Darkwarrior was the one who was always so 'big picture' he underestimated the little guy."

"And you _never_ do that." NegaCrimson rolled her eyes. "I'm from another universe and I know that's not true."

"She's got you there, DW."

"Thank you, Launchpad," Darkwing grumbled.

Everyone else laughed, and it was with a more cheerful mood that they went into the next video. Wanting to skip over the bulk of what was sure to be surveillance notes, Techno scrolled down closer to the end of the folder.

When she came up on screen, a great deal of time had clearly passed. The food stocks were low, and the place looked far more lived in. The Dark Avenger had clearly started slacking on her cleaning regimen in the meantime, as well.

Not only that, but _she_ looked different. She was anxious, and her eyes were wavering – almost sad, if they could believe it. Their laughter died a little just from looking at her - instead, all eyes refocused intently on what was going on.

" _How long have I been here?"_ The Dark Avenger breathed. _"The days have been running together somewhat. I'm at this console morning, noon and night, waiting for an opportunity to show myself. So far, it hasn't come."_

She sighed, and the rest of her body deflated with her.

" _This universe doesn't need a Darkwarrior. It never did. My father was wrong, about a lot of things. But… maybe I don't have to be wrong too. There has to be something I can do! Something… out there…"_

"Boy…" Launchpad said, concerned - even though he and the Dark Avenger had barely interacted. "She's not doing too well, is she?"

"She'll pull through," NegaCrimson said resolutely. "I've been through worse."

The others eyed each other. Given their similarity and the inner strength all the versions of Crimson they've met seemed to share, it was easy to believe that. But on the other hand, perhaps there was a sense that she _needed_ to believe that.

Techno looked at the next video, and winced. "I wouldn't be too sure of that…"

He brought it up on the big screen, and everyone gasped. The Dark Avenger was crumpled against the console – her hair was wild as she shuddered from obvious sobs.

They all fell silent – NegaCrimson's eyes widened, especially, to see a mirror image of herself break down so completely.

" _Useless._ _ **Useless!**_ _Why did I come here?!"_ The Avenger's voice was wild and cried in deep, heaving breaths. _"What… what did I_ _ **do?**_ _Launchpad… I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"_

Launchpad blinked. "What's she apologizing to me for?" He said, once the room had found its voice.

"That's right! Crimson told me about this," Techno said softly, staring at the screen in a mix of judgment and pity. "In her universe, after finding out about Darkwarrior's identity she snapped and killed her versions of Launchpad and Agent Mia."

Launchpad turned green. "Yeesh, what a way to go."

"The rest of this seems to be just her… crying." Techno said, feeling awkwardly and a little guilty now that these logs were dipping into some seriously private moments. "Does anyone else want to see that?"

The room immediately announced its desire with a quick and abrupt "NO!", so Techno – feeling _very_ relieved, skipped to the next video.

This one was a clear constrast, from the very first glance.

The Dark Avenger was no longer slumped in the seat: she was up straight and alert. No longer unkempt, she and the room were immaculate and completely in order. But her eyes were blank and dead. Her voice, having not exactly been the picture of vim and vigor before, was now hollow and void of emotion.

" _No more. When I started, I set out to rid the multiverse of traitors. Of murderous criminals. Well, I need look no further. I have done nothing but cause pain. And as the supposed terror that hunts in the night, it is my duty to dispense justice…"_

With that she raised her "gas gun," to the side of her head. It being a Darkwarrior brand weapon, the whine of arming, probably explosive ordinance could be heard even through the recording.

Darkwing's eyes widened. "She… she's not going to…"

He fought the terrible urge to turn away, not daring to believe it. He barely knew the Dark Avenger, but he couldn't watch someone who looked just like his daughter do the unthinkable. Not now.

The others clearly felt the same way. NegaCrimson was transfixed, staring at the screen with her face slack in horror. Launchpad was holding his beak, as if about to be sick. And Techno really _was_ turned away – not that Darkwing could blame him.

Only the Masked Mallard, who didn't really know any version of Crimson, seemed able to act. "No way!" He gasped, diving for the screen as if that could stop her. "Tell me it's not too late!"

But the Dark Avenger continued, her voice starting to waver only slightly.

"… _this universe will not mourn the loss of one more reminder of Darkwarrior. And neither will-"_

Something on the lower screens flashed against the Dark Avenger's face, causing her to lower her weapon.

"… _an alert through SHUSH's channels. Odd."_ She muttered, refocusing on the computer. _"Says here… possible trouble from the Negaverse."_

She sat upright. Her eyes widened with a sudden realization… then narrowed with a familiar, grim determination. A small spark returned to her eyes.

" _The_ _ **Negaverse…"**_

The video ended there.

"Oh, _swell."_ NegaCrimson groaned, the tension from the last few seconds draining out of her very quickly.

Not to get her wrong – she was happy that the Dark Avenger hadn't blown herself to kingdom come. But the last thing she needed was a dramatically unstable - at _best -_ duplicate of herself running around her universe, trying to "fix" things.

The others made a few sympathetic (though entirely unhelpful, the way she saw it) gestures, which she gave cursory grunts to. This bad mood wasn't going to go away thanks to a few sheepish winces.

Meanwhile, Techno fiddled with the video, having finally been able to move enough to pause it. "That recording wasn't made very long ago: only a few weeks." He said, pointing to the timestamp. "The alert she intercepted was probably SHUSH first detecting NegaH-" he paused, remembering that the Masked Mallard wasn't yet privy to secret identities, "I mean, our 'visitor.'"

"So it's technically my responsibility." NegaCrimson spat. "Even _more_ swell."

"I didn't mean-"

NegaCrimson sighed and pinched her forehead. "Just keep playing, Techno." The super genius nodded, though a bit reluctantly.

The next video was second to last. It didn't take place much later judging from the timestamp, but the room was already buzzing with activity. The walls were cleaned of refuse, which was replaced with fresh new papers with scrawled writing and complicated flowcharts. More distressingly, the background was full of half finished mechanical parts and tools.

Parts which, worst of all, there were no traces of now. That boded well.

The Dark Avenger sat as the desk. Her mood had returned to what passed for normal for her, though the deadness in her expression hadn't _entirely_ gone away.

" _I've finally found a new calling."_ She reported curtly. She no longer sounded depressed either – in fact, they could almost hear a twinge of excitement in her voice. _"Something that can finally validate my wretched existence in this plane and perhaps make up some small measure for the horrible things I've done."_

She closed her eyes, and for a split second it looked like tears would start falling again, but then the moment was gone and she was back to pure, determined intensity.

" _For far longer than I have been here, the good people of this universe have been bedeviled by its sister plane: the Negaverse. A universe where the negatron count is unreasonably high, it is a wretched place that spawns criminal scum as easily as its blighted people breathe."_

NegaCrimson grumbled under her breath. "Yeah, you say that to my face you judgmental little-"

Chuckling good naturedly, Launchpad put a hand on her shoulder.

Meanwhile, the Dark Avenger continued on. _"I saw the effects of this universe's evil as I arrived here, but like a fool I ignored it in favor of my own inner malevolence. And now according to SHUSH it has added the sanity of my goodhearted double to those it has taken."_

She paused, in respect for her lost… if not friend, then ally. Darkwing and Techno flinched, sharing the moment.

" _So as penance_ _for my misdeeds, I will help rid the Posiverse of the danger this enmity poses, and also do my part to help the Negaverse's less vile citizens free themselves from the evil that surrounds them."_

She typed something into the screen. Something flashed in her eyes, and she began to read.

Techno searched quickly for the files associated with this video, and found a group of copies from the SHUSH database.

" _As I understand from my extensive research into SHUSH's files,"_ she said, still reading. _"The Negaverse contains an criminal equivalent to that very organization that continues to enjoy an unacceptable degree of control."_

"Well, she got one thing right at least," Launchpad said loftily. "Nasty business with that NegaHooter, huh?"

The others, except for the Masked Mallard who had no idea what he was talking about, gave a little laugh. They could see Launchpad's attempt to break the tension for what it was, and appreciated it – but even so, they kept their attention trained on the screen.

" _But this version of FOWL has a weakness. Like most beings in the Negaverse, it is almost identical to its positive equivalent in all but temperament. Same weapons. Same technology. But_ _ **unlike**_ _SHUSH, it has never faced its own Darkwarrior. And Negaduck seems to have trusted them only to a point. Which means all of SHUSH's backdoors, which my father could exploit in this universe, remain open."_

Techno's face fell. "Oh, no."

NegaCrimson's reaction was more dramatic – the consequences of this were first in her mind. "No, no, no…"

Darkwing, on the other hand, merely groaned. "She _didn't."_

The Masked Mallard looked around, again the only one not in the loop. "Didn't what?"

The recording was quick to explain. _"Using a modified version of the virus my father used to attack this version of SHUSH and control his robotic army, I will turn this Negaverse SHUSH equivalent's weapons against them."_ The Dark Avenger smiled, and for the first time since the beginning of the video chain actually looked proud, maybe even possibly happy. _"I have been perfecting the design, against code I have copied from SHUSH's own databases. This universe could defend against it, but the evil one will not."_

She nodded triumphantly, but the sudden falter in her face told another story. _"And once the Negaverse is saved, I will finally submit myself to justice… whatever form that may take. Dark Avenger out."_

The screen went dark.

The Masked Mallard rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. Having no experience with the Negaverse or the Darkwarriorverse, he had felt like a bit of an outsider here. "Well, at least her heart's in the right place… I guess…"

"She's _completely insane!"_ NegaCrimson roared, making the masked swordsman flinch."What, she plans to invade my universe with an army of robots and expects it to _just work out?_ It'll destabilize everything!"

"Then hopefully we can reach her before she sets this cockamamie plan off," Darkwing said reasonably.

Launchpad, who was still right behind her, gave her shoulder another pat. "Yep! It ain't over until it's over!"

"There's one video left," Techno observed. "Maybe there's a clue as to where she went."

Convinced, everyone leaned in to see as Techno opened the final file…

But the next video was not at all what they expected.

A Gosalyn Mallard popped up on the screen, but not the Gosalyn Mallard they were expecting. This one wore a faded costume very similar to the one currently standing in the room, ripped and haggard. And the look in her eyes was far from remorseful.

"Oh. That isn't good," Launchpad gulped, cutting off his play at reassurance. And for good reason.

" _Hey, Dad!"_ Said the still evil, but horribly genuine Crimson Avenger. _"I see you found the super-secret entrance. I_ _ **knew**_ _you wouldn't just go in the front door like a normal person."_

Deciding not to comment on his daughter stealing a quip from _NegaDuck_ of all people, Darkwing focused on the obvious.

"It's a trap!"

He turned to the others, but it felt like being in slow motion. Everyone was trying to react, but none of them had anywhere to go.

On the screen, his daughter rolled her eyes. _"Yes, Dad and/or Techno. It's a trap."_

"Aw, crap!" the Masked Mallard squeaked.

"Crimson," Darkwing shouted at the screen, "you can't-"

" _And th-th-this is still a recording."_ Crimson smiled wickedly in a way almost made it look like she was lying, had the record not skipped just as she said it.

That at least settled the bubbling internal question of whether to stay and play this out. Much as he wanted to hear his little girl's voice as much as possible right now, staying in the middle of an obvious trap while she wasn't even here to talk to was just a stupid idea.

He made for the door, hoping to get there before they were inevitably locked in. Techno had the same idea, but went for the vent they had come through instead. They were both just within reach when Crimson started talking again.

" _Now, before you try and get out, you should know that this particular deathtrap triggered ages ago."_

As she said it, Darkwing threw open the door to find a wall of solid metal in their way. A second later, there was a loud _KLANG_ and a sharp _"ow!"_ from above, and Techno came plummeting back down to the ground, rubbing his head.

Crimson was laughing at them. _"You really didn't think for a second that the vent was too easy? I had you the moment the sensor on the roof detected five entrances: you, my dearest Romeo,"_ She pretended to swoon. Techno grumbled and looked away from the screen. _"My idiot double, Launchpad and that pirate-obsessed weirdo in the mask. I took a gamble on Mia hanging back to watch the perimeter, like a good little secret agent."_ She giggled "innocently," which wasn't something she had ever been able pull off even _before_ her trons got scrambled. _"How'd I do?"_

Darkwing cursed under his breath. NegaCrimson, on the other hand, cursed out loud. "She knows us too well."

"No kidding," Techno said grimly, checking the timestamp. "This was recorded _days_ ago. Anyone else feeling really stupid right now?"

There was a wave of uncomfortable shuffling, which nicely answered the question.

Meanwhile, Crimson was having a ball. _" If you figured out the trap right away, neat!"_ She said, grinning. _"If you actually sat through my_ _ **other**_ _idiot double's drivel this whole time by choice, I'm_ _ **so**_ _disappointed in you."_ She swayed on her feet, faking a sob, before snapping back to that nasty grin. _"But you guys are screwed either way, so it doesn't really matter."_

" _Provided you didn't catch on yet, no my dark and dismal doppelganger didn't_ _ **quite**_ _get to finish what she was working on. And isn't she annoying?"_ She rubbed her eyes in an unflattering imitation of a baby. _"'Waaah, everyone hates me!' 'Baaaw, everything I knew and believed is wrong!' Gimme a break. Her little project will be in much better hands with us."_

" _And no, again, you don't get to know what it is. In fact, you haven't got much time left yourselves. Hope you liked the distraction! I hear that charbroiled look is all the rage these days! And don't even bother calling for help: thick metal walls, you know. Bye!"_

She blew a kiss, presumably intended for either Darkwing or Techno, and then the screen cut out – replaced by a digital countdown with _way_ too little time for comfort. With the amount of respect that girl had for dramatic action scenes, Darkwing thought she could at least have had the decency to give them a full five minutes. Certainly not _fifty three paltry seconds!_

"She _really_ knows us too well," NegaCrimson added, unable to squash the urge to complain. "She's trapped us like rats!"

"Like burnt toast, more like it," said Techno.

"… hokay, fine," Darkwing hissed loudly enough to get everyone's attention. "Less than a minute. Not good." He gulped, though he wouldn't let a little thing like certain death slow him down. "But Darkwing Duck will dodge his daughter's devious and dastardly doom!"

The Masked Mallard raised his arm and gave a cheer. "That's the spirit, Darkwing! And here I was a teensy bit worried!"

Everyone turned to Darkwing, waiting on bated breath for his foolproof plan to get them all out of there safely. There was a dramatic silence, as the countdown ticked away a few more seconds. And then…

"… so, anyone got any ideas?" Darkwing said sheepishly. "Don't be shy, now. We're on the clock."

As it turns out, an entire roomful of ducks groaning makes for a very loud echo.

* * *

 _Outside_ , _Just Beforehand,_

Though she had no way of knowing the danger Darkwing and his team were in, Agent Mia could make a good guess. Mostly because she wasn't having a particularly good time either.

She had thought, when first arriving, that it was odd for there to be nothing in their way. The same suspicious feeling had hit her back when they were exploring the SHUSH outpost. These were vintage espionage facilities: one run by one of the oldest pirate organizations on the planet, the other home to a paranoid and authoritarian vigilante. There ought to have been _something_ keeping them from just snooping around, even if these places were abandoned. No one cleans up all their traps when leaving their top secret hideout behind.

But when nothing jumped out at them from behind a rock or fell on them from out of the sky, she had relaxed. She let her guard down.

Now, she wasn't sure whether to be satisfied or annoyed to have found something after all. Or more accurately, to have had something find _her._

It didn't take long after starting her perimeter sweep for her to set it off. One moment she was looking over the island's hills, trying to make sense out of how this place had gone unnoticed for so long. The next, gun encampments were popping up everywhere – yes, even from behind a rock – surrounding her. A half dozen machine guns were trained on her before she could blink.

She decided to settle on "satisfied." Though perhaps a little horrorstruck, as well. On the one hand, her honed spy senses were still correct even in the midst of all this superhero drama. On the other hand, they had walked around this beach before entering the facility. If these security measures were here all along, but were only activating now, after the rest of the group had already gone inside the compound…

Someone had intentionally set this up! This was a trap!

" _Hey there, hi there, ho there Agent Mia!"_

Speak of the devil.

It was times like this that Agent Mia was very much missed the days when hearing Crimson's voice was a _relief._

" _I hope you enjoyed your long walk down the beach!"_ She laughed cruelly. _"I'm just happy to prove an old adage right – curiosity did kill the cat, after all!"_

Mia snarled and whipped around, trying to find where Crimson was coming from, but she found nothing. "Enjoy it while you can, Crims-"

The mind-warped villainess' voice cut her off. _"Why yes, I_ _ **am**_ _a recording! Thanks for asking!"_

Mia mentally slapped herself. " _Naturally_ …" she thought. If this trap was set up in advance, of _course_ Crimson wasn't actually sitting here all that time waiting for it to go off.

Unfortunately, if there was no enemy she could outfight to deactivate the trap – Secret Agent 101, that – she was stuck, at least for now. A sitting duck, despite being a cat – but she would rather not give Crimson any more adages to work with.

Somehow, it actually helped her cope with her own situation to worry about what the rest of the team was going through inside the facility – no doubt Crimson had left something nasty for them as well. She tried to put the fact that she could be horribly swiss-cheesed any moment out of her mind by making a plan for getting inside and helping them, but the recording of Crimson was – of course – not giving her any space to work with.

" _I thought about just having this little springtrap blast you outright. Seemed way smarter than what the others had in mind…"_ Crimson continued, taunting on and on. _"… you know: torture, interrogation, fighting game tournament, all that. But I was outvoted."_

Mia breathed a sigh of relief – at least she could count on the simple nature of pirates and petty criminals to give her an edge, or at least a reprieve.

" _So… I decided to ignore them!"_

Or, maybe not. In a fit of instinct, Mia may have reached for her sidearm – an instinct, maybe she would have to take her chances shooting out the mechanisms that surrounded her. But the moment she moved, each of the guns armed all at once in response… and Mia was forced to slowly raise her arms away. A basic trap, but diabolically effective.

The recording went on as if she hadn't done a thing - Mia almost expected Crimson to have predicted her escape attempt. _"It's like they've never played the 'let's mess around and let the hero escape' game before, honestly! Dad got some of his best wins from villains too stupid to finish him off right away."_

Crimson paused for what almost sounded like a nostalgic sigh, if Mia didn't know better.

" _But anyway, I'm going to compromise. You're safe for now… until either everyone inside that building is dead – and trust me, that's pretty likely."_ A dark chuckle. At least that confirmed Mia's suspicions that there was another trap inside. _"But on the chance my Dad_ _ **does**_ _somehow make it out of that, which I unlike more idiotic do-badders won't rule out, you'll last until someone, anyone, makes it out those doors."_

That small bit of mirth exploded into something wild and excitable _. "Keen gear, can you imagine? They'll finally make it out of that trap, happy to be alive. Then suddenly, they see you in trouble. They have just enough time to start moving, to start putting together a plan, and then BAM! You're gone before they can do a thing! It'd be worth it for the look on Launchpad's face alone!"_

Mia felt her claws tense to hear Crimson throw that name out so cruelly – let alone what Launchpad meant to her, not long ago he family to Crimson. She shuddered, forcing herself to breathe, and tried to remember. _"She's not in her right mind. She's not in control of her own actions."_

It was getting harder and harder to do, when their enemy used the ingenuity and creativity Crimson was known for so terribly against them, and spoke to them in this absurd sense of ease, as if nothing had changed. It started out merely creepy, but it was starting to fill her with a sense of hatred that she, in turn, hated herself for feeling. And she was sure that was exactly what Crimson wanted.

" _But like I said, you're safe for now. All you have to do is wait! Lucky you. You could get blown away a minute from now, a half hour from now, who knows? Thrilling, right?_ " Mia hardly thought so, but the recording didn't wait for a reaction this time. _"But I'll leave you to it! Goodbye, Mia! See you in the obituaries!"_

A loud click signaled that the recording was over, and Mia was left in silence. Horrible, anxious silence. Nothing but the silent ticks of a clock, before the sudden moment when the sound of gunfire would fill the air.

She almost preferred Crimson keep taunting her.

But she had no time to wallow in dread. Darkwing, Launchpad and the rest were inside, in a trap Crimson clearly intended to be inescapable. And if they did escape, Mia was clearly Crimson's Plan B, to hurt them emotionally if she somehow failed to do so physically. But she was a trained SHUSH agent, so that was not an option – there was no chapter in the operations manual about being bait, or an example, or a prize, because a SHUSH agent simply did not allow such things to happen. Period.

Nor did they ever let any of her allies die when she could do something, _anything_ to stop it from happening. So it was time to get to work.

The question was, what _could_ she do? Leaving this spot was out of the question. Using any of her equipment, likewise, would set off the guns. She didn't have much else – perhaps there might have been something to help in the Thunderquack, but that was so close, yet so far.

Though come to think of it, if she could get to get to the Thunderquack, she could just fly away and avoid this mess entirely…

A firecracker went off inside her head. "Wait a minute…"

The Thunderquack was still out there: undamaged and completely trap-less. This entire beach was riddled with proverbial and probably literal mines, but nothing had come out to attack the plane. _It_ was safe, and though neither she, nor Launchpad, nor any of the others could get to it right now, they weren't the only ones who had come along…

Slowly, unthreateningly, she reached for the button that controlled her communicator - as easily as if she were brushing dust off her wrist. The guns followed her movement but didn't activate, at least for now. But she would have to hurry.

The four seconds it took for her call to be answered were some of the most nervewracking in her life. The two had barely interacted, but even so Mia had never been so happy to hear Panchito's voice on the other end.

" _El Gallo Loco speaking! How goes the-"_

"This is Agent Mia!" She shouted immediately, without waiting for him to finish.. "Mayday! Repeat, Mayday!"

Instantly, Panchito began to ramble. _"What?! What is going on? Is anyone hurt!"_ She could hear Cloudkicker in the background, also gasping questions about what was going on, and his and Panchito's tense voices started to mix together into solid noise. But though she respected and appreciated their concern (even if she was sure most of it was not directed at her), she could not let this continue.

"No time for that, Gonzales!" She barked, using the name SHUSH had on file for the rooster. "Just know we're in trouble, but I have an idea. It's crazy, but it's all we've got. Do you think either of you can fly a jet?"

There was a long silence.

"Hello?" She shouted, suddenly terrified at the possibility that the pirates had caught onto her message and jammed them somehow. _**"Hello?!**_ Are you still there? Answer me!"

" _Lo siento, Lady Agent,"_ Panchito's voice came back, warily. _"It's just… Cloudkicker is smiling. Really, quite wide. I don't think I've ever seen him this happy…"_

 _The Airship_ _ **Not**_ _Named "Pete's Mighty Fist," At The Same Time,_

For someone so intricately entwined with the threat the heroes were facing, Crimson – moral center as skewed as ever - had actually arrived to the party very late.

The airship was parked in midair several dozen miles away from the island – too far for even the smallest dot in the sky to be seen from the ground… and so, incidentally, too far to have visual on the island itself. They were stuck with hidden sensors, radar and good old fashioned prediction, but it was doing the job: without ever being detected, they had followed almost every movement that Darkwing and company made since setting foot on their abandoned island lair.

Granetd, the sensors only went as far as their island and the one that had been used by their newest prisoner, but that seemed more than enough. Most of these other islands were one big wave away from being uninhabitable anyway.

Crimson arrived by way of a personal biplane, "borrowed" from some non-essential personnel (who, in punishment for letting pirate property get stolen, was now on KP duty for the rest of the decade). After taking her sweet time dropping her travel gear off in her cabin, she kept but a single suitcase with her, and moseyed down to the bridge. Once there, she barged loudly onto the scene – knowing it would irritate the two major players already waiting there.

Pete was standing in the center of the room, barking orders at passing pirates and yelling for no reason at the ones who seemed too comfortable. In her current temperament, Crimson rather enjoyed the incorrigible old bandit – in so far as it was possible to like someone at all in her condition – especially the way anyone stupid enough to annoy him had a world of pain to look forward to.

Naturally, with that in mind, Crimson waltzed over to him and clapped him hard on the back. "I'm back! Miss me?" Pete responded with a slow, mutinous glare, to which she only grinned. "Sorry I'm late. Had an interesting run-in with some crazy old treasure hunter who kind of sounded like my dad with a funny accent."

"Well, ain't that interestin'." He burly pirate said with a mostly indifferent snarl.

"Come to think of it," she mused, partly to herself – but mostly to get the big cat's goat, "the boss kind of sounds like my dad with a funny accent."

"How about that - small world ain't it?" Pete said, frowning. Much to Crimson's delight, it looked like he was already starting to get annoyed.

"Actually, _you_ kind of sound like my dad with-"

Pete's temper may have been notoriously short, but there was another on deck whose mood was far more unpredictable. NegaHonker, who was silently watching the horizon in his best impression of an admiral on deck, lost patience with the chatter even faster than Pete did – utterly ruining his attempt at seeming sagelike at the same time.

"CAN WE CUT THE CONVERSATION, ALREADY?" He bellowed. "This is a tense situation, if you haven't noticed!" He pointed out the window, to in the direction where his comrades' lair lay. "In case you didn't notice, stopping by so late and all, Darkwing's gang is raiding the pirates' old hideout _right now!_ We have to be ready for action, not shooting the breeze."

Crimson rolled her eyes on the outside, while promising herself on the inside that he'd get his for ruining her fun.

"So?" She said flippantly. "Did they get distracted by the signal from Dark Avenger's island, like I said they would?"

Before NegaHonker could open his mouth to protest, but Pete gruffly answered.

"Yup."

"Mmhmm…" Crimson threw a smirk at NegaHonker, who was stewing. "Did they spring the trap I set, like I said they would?"

"Also, yup."

"And did Agent Mia stay outside and spring the _other_ trap _, again_ like I said?"

"Yup, a third time."

NegaHonker's sneer could have frozen molasses. "I suppose when you put it like that, there isn't much to worry about. All I have to do is have faith in the traps of a _former hero._ "

Crimson's sly mood evaporated at once. "Don't talk like you're in any way close to being as competent as me. It's disgusting." She growled. "And I know my Dad. This is all going to go off without a hitch, unless…" She turned to Pete. "You _did_ check the seas to see if anyone else was around, right?"

"Yup. The boys swept the whole area." Pete nodded proudly, but just to be sure he turned to the nearest crewman for confirmation. "Ain't that right, first mate?"

"No, sir!" The first mate responded confidently, making Pete do an impressive choking fit on nothing at all. "Gettin' too close just for the sake of piratin' some random dinghy didn't seem like such a good idea."

Crimson gave an angry roar and threw her suitcase on the ground, then quickly snatched it back up. And for once, she and NegaHonker – who was slamming his head into the metal wall - were on the same page. "It is if Darkwing possibly brought backup!" He hissed.

Pete cuffed the first mate on the head, _hard._ "What were ya thinkin', ya dimwit!?"

"But… but…" the pirate stammered, holding his aching skull, "t-the element of surprise!"

On cue, another crewman ran up to the group, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Captain! It's all gone wrong! Someone is flying the Thunderquack! We have no idea who!"

Pete looked like he might actually explode with anger, and the poor, foolish first mate shrank at the sight of three brutal villains each furious at him with their own special kind of rage.

"Yes…" NegaHonker said stiffly. "That's definitely a freaking surprise!"

"And it not supposed to happen!" Crimson raged. She turned here and there, so every pirate in the room had her attention. "What are you waiting for, a musical cue?" She shouted, pointing to the bridge doors. "Scramble the fighters! And fire up our personal interceptor!"

To piggyback on the order – giving calls like that was supposed to be his job anyway - Pete grabbed the first mate by the scruff of his neck and tossing him into the arms of the nearest passing pirate. "And throw this one out the bomb bay doors, while yer at it!" He said, to the jeering laughter of the rest of the crew.

The poor, unfortunate first mate – unfortunately soon to be _ex-_ first mate, it would seem – gulped loudly. "B-but…"

* * *

 _Meanwhile, The Air Around the SHUSH Outpost,_

"YEEEEEEE-HAW!"

Kit Cloudkicker was having fun. It was not something he was used to these days. But it turned out, even in his otherwise miserable and decrepit state, for a born pilot the sky was still the limit.

"This thing handles like a dream!" He shouted, despite there only being two people in the cockpit with him. Panchito winced at the noise, but otherwise had little objection as Kit exercised a some finesse by taking the Thunderquack through a few corkscrews. Mia, on the other hand, looked a little green. "Launchpad is a genius! Sure, he's a little loopy but… WOO!"

He went from the corkscrews into a full speed pelican dive – the signature move he missed more than anything. Closer, closer, and closer he sped to the water's surface, ignoring both the laughter and the protests coming from behind him.

Well, all the protests except one.

"Instead of crashing us," Mia said evenly – nerves of steel, even when frazzled. "Would you mind freeing Launchpad and the others so you can tell him yourself?"

But Kit merely smirked. "That's what I'm doing."

The jet plummeted towards the ground – at that speeds, the water would have been like concrete - but _just_ before it was about to collide, Kit tilted the yoke up and the Thunderquack spun into a perfect ninety degree turn. In the hands of someone like Kit, it felt like the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

He was starting to understand why Darkwing was so attached to this thing. Sure, in the end he preferred the feel of an old fashioned cargo plane (well, it wasn't old fashioned when he first flew one…), but this dynamo could do anything! The only hard part had been getting to it: Mia had been very insistent about being _extra_ careful not to land themselves in any traps, as she had.

They'd had to comb the beach, trying to avoid any spots that Crimson was likely to choose – they're still not sure whether they actually avoided any or were being paranoid. But once they were in it… a button push let the Thunderquack's cannons take out the turrets surrounding Mia. And once he had it in the _air…_

Again, he was having fun. Enough said. But he still had a job to do.

With the Thunderquack now perfectly horizontal, it was now zooming with all that extra momentum directly for the installation. It tore overhead – clearing the island in seconds – but just before it passed, Kit activated another of the jet's cannons. The shell crashed into the roof of the building at maximum speed, enough to blow a hole straight into the roof – when the smoke cleared, there was nothing but a sizzling hole left where an unbeatable deathtrap had been: a hole more than big enough for a least a few superheroes to squeeze through.

"Oh." Mia said, as she tried to steady herself with her seat. "Good job."

"You secret agents and your understatements." Kit laughed. "Boy, imagine if Wildcat had gotten his hands on this thing!"

"We're not out of the woods yet!" Mia said, somewhat surprised as the usually pensive and reasonable pilot's sudden brash behavior. "Let's wait until we have everyone on board to celebrate."

But Kit smiled roguishly. "Take it easy, Miz Cunningham. Look!"

"Miss _who?"_ Mia said, furrowing her eyes at him.

Kit wasn't listening. His eyes were out the window and on the island, where Techno was the first to emerge – carrying Launchpad below him like a heavy sack. He was followed swiftly by Darkwing and NegaCrimson, who together ferried the Masked Mallard up via grappler.

As soon as he was outside, Darkwing's voice blared over the comms – he waved as well, but with a frantic "go away, far away!" motion that made them all more nervous than relieved.

" _It's going to blow! Get back!"_

Kit didn't need to be told twice. He veered the Thunderquack away from the building as quick as he could. On the ground, the others all dove for cover just as a massive jet of flame burst from the hole. The blast doors in the front flew open from pressure, as a blazing fire clawed its way out of every open hole it could find. Anything inside at the time would have almost certainly become cinders in seconds.

" _Just in time!"_ Darkwing's voice came through, breaking them away from their stares. " _Gotta hand it to you. Cloudkicker, is that you up there?"_

"That's right." Kit sat back, enjoying the moment. "We're swinging around to pick you up now."

"Maybe not!" Panchito suddenly said, pointing out the widow. "Incoming!"

Kit and Mia looked around to where Panchito was pointing, to find a squadron of retro looking biplanes fast approaching.

"Pirates?" Kit laughed. "No trouble at all, right Poppa Bear?"

It was Panchito's turn to give Kit a funny look. "…what?"

This time, Kit actually turned around and finally, for a moment, realized who he was talking to. "Um…"

"Are you alright, amigo?"

Kit shook the bugs out of his head. Right. Not Baloo. Somehow, he had flown himself into the wrong decade. "Nothing, forget it…" he said evasively. He took a breath to center himself. "Force of habit."

"Are you _sure_?" Mia asked pointedly.

"You don't forcibly age forward a few decades in a short time without some residual problems." He quipped." But like I said, it's nothing." He paused. His eyes steeled on the approaching pirates. "At least, nothing I can't handle..."

He seemed confident enough. But Panchito and Mia exchanged concerned looks as the jets sped up, and not just because of the deadly dogfight looming towards them…

* * *

 _Meanwhile Down On The Ground,_

"Out of the frying pan, and onto… what, the kitchen floor?!"

Pacing back and forth and ranting were just about the only things Darkwing was capable of doing right now, and it was driving him crazy.

Above, the Thunderquack was colliding with the pirate squadron in a brilliant display of midair maneuverability and blazing gunfire. It was a feather biter, to be sure: the pirates weren't particularly skilled or technologically advanced, but there were a ton of them. And a bullet is a bullet.

It was always easy to forget how difficult it was to be on the sidelines watching someone risk their life when it wasn't you up there doing the risking. For a doer like Darkwing, it was unbearable.

"We have to throw our hands into the ring somehow!" He groused. "We can't just leave them up there!"

NegaCrimson grunted, trying to ignore his pacing – which was only making everyone else's nerves worse. "Unless you've got another airship hidden in your cape, we _can't!_ Much as I hate to admit it."

"We could ferry Panchito's boat around under the battle, but that wouldn't necessarily _help,"_ The Masked Mallard offered, obviously resigned.

Darkwing groaned, but kept going back and forth. A moment later, he froze – an idea suddenly fresh in his mind.

"Techno, you're the only one who can fly. Think you think you can get up in there?" He said eagerly.

The genius drew in on himself, trying to think. "Probably, but it's probably not the smartest idea."

He shrugged, and for a moment it actually looked like he might leave it with that sound logic – long enough that Darkwing put on an affronted gape – but then he went on to say. "That said, I can't sit around and do nothing either."

With that – stupid idea or not - he lifted up and sped towards the action.

"Hopefully, it's not just goons up here…" he muttered to himself. Ahead of him, the Thunderquack did an impressive barrel roll that completely sidestepped a torrent of bullets – though how much of it was Kit's amazing skill, and how much was the pirates' incompetence, he could hardly tell. "Granted, if she _is_ riding with them, I'll have to keep on my toes so I don't-"

His train of thought was cut off by a shot of flak whizzing past his ear. Keeping on his toes would evidently have to start sooner than later. And just as he thought: as he spun away to keep from becoming swiss cheese, he caught sight of the plane that shot at him.

"Almost looks like another knockoff Thunderquack, at least a bit…" he mused as it whizzed past. The design was very familiar, if it's own beast – the multitude of guns attached clearly spoke for a personal touch involved. The cockpit was tinted, but he could vividly imagine the look of disgust on NegaHonker's face, and the gleeful anticipation on Crimson's beside him. "Let's see how much of a match it is…"

He gave chase – making very sure not to let it get behind him again. He wasn't quite fast enough or strong enough to take down a jet like that in a fair fight, but he _was_ smart enough to zero in on the opportune moment… whenever it presented itself, that is…

Meanwhile, despite Techno's action packed misadventure, on the ground the rest of the group were starting to realize the downside of Darkwing's sudden idea.

"Well, he sure looks like he's having fun," NegaCrimson said, snarky as ever. "Shame we're all _still stuck down here._ "

Darkwing groaned. "Just… don't remind me."

Launchpad just scratched his head, dejected. "Coulda at least towed me up to my plane…"

* * *

 _Back At The Thunderquack,_

"Techno is in play." Through the window of the Thunderquack, Agent Mia tried to monitor the action without giving herself motion sickness. "The odds are a bit more even."

"They were never even," Kit scoffed. To prove his point, a shot from one of the Thunderquack's glue missiles took out of the pirate's planes in one shot. "In fact, they're completely lopsided in our favor. I almost feel bad for these guys."

Though usually one for a rip-roaring dust up with enemies of the dastardly sort, Panchito couldn't help but be a bit concerned. Perhaps it was because he was stuck in the literal backseat, unable to do any of the dusting up himself. Or because he'd never before seen the glimmer of adventure in Kit's old eyes before now.

"Gloat after you win, _por favor_?"

"Eh, we've practically won already," Kit said. He, on the other hand, was feeling more alive than he had been since the last battle with Don Karnage, those months ago. He knew he was getting far too ahead of himself – the same kind of thing he always warned the Masked Mallard about – but it was his first opportunity to stretch himself. "Just give me a few more passes, and we'll have this rabble cleaned right up."

On cue, a dark, blurry shape sped ahead of them. And it was definitely _not_ one of the pirate's standard planes.

"What the heck was that?"

It looked as thought someone had tried to rebuild the Thunderquack, but changed projects halfway through and instead built some kind of war machine. The basic duck bill shape was still there, but it was framed around a large array of missiles and blasters, framed with wings right out of a stealth bomber catalogue. Even looking at at the front of it, a heavy glow was visible emanating from the back side – a power source, of some kind. There was no way something that hulking was getting off the ground otherwise.

A voice hailed them over the radio: one that rang a bell, even though they knew the source was as unfamiliar as they came. _"Whoever is in that plane, you are bothering me."_

Even knowing who it was, they almost had to check the window to make sure Techno was still flying around outside. Hearing the voice out of context was a very unnerving experience.

But with months of SHUSH frustration behind her, Agent Mia took charge. "You must be our Negaverse visitor," She replied. "And a halfway decent pilot, at that."

Kit made a non-committal sound behind her. She ignored him, but appreciated the jab to NegaHonker's temperamental ego.

"It's about time you stood still and let us take you in," she continued. "We've spent a lot of time and effort trying to pin you down."

" _Well, you're about to die instead. So I hope that effort was worth it for you."_

The glowing energy in the back of the plane doubled in brightness, a sure sign that the weapons, engines and all other sorts of probably painful mechanisms were charging. Kit grabbed the yoke and whipped the Thunderquack into defensive maneuvers, hoping to minimize any damage.

However, he didn't expect to take _no_ damage.

All of a sudden, the enemy weapons turned off. Over the radio, the transmission as suddenly garbled, save for the sounds of a small scuffle. Little phrases like _"not yet!"_ or _"let that go"_ came through, but otherwise nothing substantial.

Still, a lucky break is a lucky break. "A little trouble with your freakshow of a plane?" Kit sang into the microphone as he flew the Thunderquack to the arguable safety of the flying monstrosity's flank.

In response the flying missile battery finally seemed to restart itself - too late to take it's perfect shot, but not so late that it wasn't a threat. A new voice came in over the radio, one whose owner they knew even better.

" _Kit Cloudkicker?"_ Came the call from Crimson. Their attention instantly snapped to the radio. _"I was hoping I'd get to see you again! And these roughnecks in the pirate force have really missed you too!"_

"Well…" Kit said, his banter tinged with annoyance, "why don't you get out of that mismatched insult to aeronautics and give me a hug?"

Crimson laughed. _"I've got a better idea. Why don't you come and get_ _ **me?**_ _My father's state of the art jet vs our 'mismatched insult to aeronautics.' Skilled pilot like you, should be a foxtrot! You lot did that one back in the 40s, right?"_

Kit scoffed, though on the inside he let himself calm. Any old fool could tell that 'challenge' was a landmined road best left un-trod, but the fact that they _thought_ they could goad him finally brought his senses back. Perhaps he had been flying more recklessly than he thought. "I believe an old pal of mine would've filed that under 'chances that shouldn't be took.' If he was the type for filing, that is."

" _Is that so? Well, there's all sorts of means to an end these days... Let me think… hmm…"_ She let a long silence hang, for what was surely dramatic effect. Mia mumbled something about "hams" under her breath. _"My dad would be a much bigger fool than I know he is to not change the password for this thing, and even if he was Techno would cover it. But…"_

"You're not getting control of this ship, Crimson!" Mia replied. "Don't bother trying."

" _Oh, I'm not?"_ Crimson said, pretending to be offended. If they could see her, they might catch her putting on a very fake pout. _"But I bet my double gets to control the ship, in a pinch. She's proven herself so capable and trustworthy, and they didn't even need to change the programming much. Which makes sense, since it's **so** easy to forget to update these things..."_

Mia and Kit stared at each other, befuddled at the direction this was going. They could tell Crimson had some kind of plan, but it hadn't dawned on them just yet. One of their number, however, was much better versed in the value of sound.

"Ay, no!" Panchito gasped. Everyone else turned to him, in confusion and alarm. "You have to silence it, amigos, before-"

" _Thunderquack, recognize user NegaCrimson. Confirm."_

" **Voice Recognition: Confirmed."**

Everyone in the plane suddenly felt a _lot_ less safe.

"What?" Agent Mia leapt from the passenger's seat and starting furiously fiddling with the controls.

"Quick!" Kit shouted. He fiddled around the dashboard, trying to find the user controls. "We have to lock her out, before-"

" _Thunderquack?"_

Time seemed to slow down. They all froze, for a split second.

" _Activate Primary Ejector Seat!"_

" **Confirmed."**

Kit's eyes widened. "Aw, cra-" And then, with a mighty whoosh, he wasn't sitting at the controls any more.

There wasn't even a seat there. It was now rocketing through the air on a vapor trail, trailing a full parachute and a stunned occupant… who would now, of course, have quite the issue keeping the plane from plummeting to the ground.

They could see Kit flying overhead, the faint sound of his panicked screaming distant on the wind. A second later, NegaHonker's plane swooped overhead and Kit was snatched out of the sky.

Terribly, a friend in jeopardy was only the least of their worries. The plane was going into freefall. They were under a minute away from a titanic crash and, probably, fiery death.

Panchito jumpd up from the backseat. "Tell me you can fly this, _senora._ I'm not a flying bird! I'm barely even a swimming bird!"

"And yet you sail around on a boat," Mia quipped, but without any bite. It was only to center herself. "I've had some training, but it's not my specialty!" She replied, gripping the controls as best she could while standing up. "Help me keep this thing level!"

" _Oh, no you don't!"_ Mia and Panchito shared a look, both despising the fact that they really hated hearing Crimson's voice right now. _"Guess an impromptu deathtrap is as good as a painstakingly planned one. Thunderquack-"_

 _ **BLAM!**_

Mia quickly reholstered her sidearm and went back to focusing on the plane. Darkwing would just have to get SHUSH to replace his radio system. Hopefully, Director Navis wouldn't be too upset.

She grabbed the yoke and pulled it _hard,_ trusting Panchito to cover her slack on the rest of the controls while she focused solely on keeping the machine under control. They got a little control back, but it wasn't working fast enough. They were still set to crash into the water – and at the speed they were going, it would be like concrete.

"It looks like this Caballero is going to that big show in the sky…" Panchito said miserably, but firmly. He didn't slow down his work in the slightest, but they both knew they were just delaying the inevitable. "It's been fun, _senora."_

Mia didn't like clichés, especially these kinds of clichés, so she said nothing. She pulled twice as hard – it may have been impossible, but she had more to give. All she had to do was dig deep and _find it…_

And some how, it seemed to be working. The plane was leveling off. For second, she thought maybe herself and Panchito weren't in such a terrible situation after all, but then it started to _turn._ All she was doing was pulling it upright.

This wasn't them. She let go of the yoke – to Panchito's surprised squawk – and headed to the window to get a good look. After a minute or so, Techno flew from below the plane and hovered level to the side, hands in a proper salute.

Mia had never been happier to see him, and that was saying a lot.

"Looks like you guys needed a boost!" He shouted, barely audible over the wind blowing through the hole in the roof. Mia supposed they really ought to find the button that closes it – hopefully she hadn't shot it earlier. "You should be alright now, Darkwing and the rest are just down there!"

He pointed to where – now that they had their bearings – Mia could see the other heroes assembled, all staring with probable concern at their close call.

That was a relief – it wouldn't be a short trip down there – but now that they were safe it wasn't one the forefront of her mind. "Thanks, now get out of here!" Beneath his visor, she was sure Techno was blinking in confusion. "Crimson has Cloudkicker! If we're 'alright,' let us handle it from here and go after him."

Techno turned back in midair, shocked. The pirates were retreating by now – between Kit's fancy flying with the Thunderquack' and Techno's interference, they had been thoroughly thrashed – and NegaHonker's jet was going with them. He understood right away that he could not let them escape, and sped off.

Meanwhile, Mia hopped back onto the controls and guided the Thunderquack to the ground – hoping, provided the hole in the roof and the bullet holes in the dashboard weren't too much of a problem, that they could rejoin the fight soon...

* * *

 _On NegaHonker's Warplane_

"Wait, damn you! Go back!"

The warplane veered in its beeline towards the airship, just so slightly enough that you wouldn't be able to tell from the outside that there was a fight for the yoke going on inside.

NegaHonker jerked the controls out from Crimson's grip, ignoring her look of incensed exasperation. "Sit down, would you? I'm not risking my advantage just so you have a little more fun kicking those fools around!"

"This from the guy who once blew a disguise trying to murder me," Crimson snarked back.

"That was part of a plan." He grumbled. "Plans change."

"Ah, yes. Always 'gathering forces for the war you can't win," she sneered. "Such a good little soldier."

NegaHonker's teeth tightened beneath his mask. "What you fail to realize is, an air navy is only one of a multitude that will turn the tides. And the paradigm between us and Pete shifted the moment we got what they want!" He gestured his head towards Kit, who made a muffled but unimpressed sound in the aft.

"And what _you_ fail to realize is that you're flailing at nothing as long as _they're_ still alive!" She pointed angrily not at Kit, but the landlocked heroes behind the aft of the plane. "The whole point of this exercise was to off them, remember? And all we got was Cloudkicker – _alive!_ I don't care if our pirate buddies want him or not, he's useless!"

She turned back to look at Kit, who made an offended sound from the backseat. "Offense totally meant," she said, smirking.

NegaHonker didn't seem to see the humor. "Just sit yourself down and watch the plans unfold," he said nastily, earning him a sharp look from his formerly heroic cohort. "I'm taking Cloudkicker to Pete. If you want to worry about Darkwing and his lackeys, do so on your own time."

Crimson stared at him in what was now a genuine look of disbelief. "Are the Friendly Four just that incompetent, or have you seriously never gone up against a superhero before?" She made another grab for the steering wheel. " _You're basically flying a gun with wings!_ Just turn around and blast them! _"_

"I'm not taking the advice of someone who clearly just wants to entertain themselves," NegaHonker said with clear disgust – an unfair response, given his culpability in her personality in the first place.

"Hey, if you're not going to entertain me, I have to find something that will," she said in a sudden dark tone that should have given him pause, but he brushed off the chill in his spine, however. As a rule, an assassin has always heard worse.

Crimson rose from her seat and strode to the back. "Speaking of which…" She approached Kit, who – thanks to decades of hardened adventures – didn't so much as flinch. "How ya doin' back here, slugger?"

"Just enjoying the show," he said. "It's a wonder you get anything done."

"Oh…" Crimson suddenly grabbed his aged wrist and twisted it, hard. Kit fought the urge to cry out. "You'd be surprised at what we can dredge up, sometimes."

Kit winced, but kept his composure. "So I see. Or at least, so I see from you. You're the one who caught me, right? Makes me wonder who the brains are, here."

She chuckled under her breath. "Oh?"

"Just saying," Kit said airily, despite the pain. "You made the plan to wipe us out, too, right? Seems to me that you should be in charge. Or maybe you already are," he stage-whispered, making sure NegaHonker could clearly hear. "And he just doesn't like it."

Beneath his mask NegaHonker's eyes narrowed, and he glanced suspiciously at the duck behind him. While she couldn't see his face, Crimson seemed to read his reaction anyway: she rolled her eyes, though whether it was more at NegaHonker or more at Kit even she didn't know.

"The old 'turn the villains against each other' routine?" She scoffed. "Come on, that's the oldest trick in the book! He might be stupid enough to fall for it-" She let Kit go and jerked her thumb at NegaHonker, who frowned beneath his mask. "-but I don't particularly care."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. We hate each other's guts. You think that idiot isn't _already_ planning to kill me once he doesn't need me any more?" Kit gasped, which turned into a panicked wheeze. She snickered in his face. "Don't act so surprised, Kit. It's Villain 101. You know exactly how it is, if you're trying to pull that old con. If he had any possibility of actually pulling it off, I _might_ be excited…"

"And I suppose you don't have any plans of your own?"

"All I care about it keeping myself active, you might say," she said coolly. "Running around helping loser Honker set the woods on fire has had its flair, even if the novelty is wearing off."

"That's because you don't need him, Gosalyn," Kit pleaded. No use continuing the manipulation: the jig was up. "You're better than this. "

But she simply laughed and returned to the front seat. She threw herself into the passenger side and leaned back, exuding pure indifference.

"He does have a point," she said to NegaHonker, the dangerous air in her voice returning. "I'm bored. You're boring me."

"That's all you care about, is it?" He said lowly.

"Duh."

"I'm not turning around," he grunted, his eyes glued to the windshield. The airship was just ahead, now. "And I told you to sit down and keep your objections to yourself."

She saw his obvious irritation, but felt nothing but amusement. "If he bothers you, we could always drop him in the ocean. It's not like we even need to lug him around." She eyed him sideways, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm pretty sure I've done more to 'ingratiate' us to those thugs than you ever could, regardless."

NegaHonker jolted upright, remembering her mystery mission to parts unknown, and her lateness getting to the hangar. "… what did you do?" He growled, turning slowly to face her. Her smirk had blossomed into a manic grin, as she made no attempt to hide how she enjoyed the reaction she was getting out of him.

Her eyes darted to the radar, and she turned away. "That's going to have to wait, hon," she said coyly. "We're about to have company."

"What the hell are you-"

There was a loud _WHAM_ against the hull as something knocked them off course. Their course veered off _just_ before they would have docked with the airship, and turned back down towards the rocky islands below.

Outside the window, another Honker – in full Techno regalia – held onto the side, jet boots firing as he pushed the plane away from its destination.

"I hope you don't mind if I move this someplace a little less precarious!" He said, in his usual unassuming way.

NegaHonker threw him a rude gesture through the glass, but Crimson chuckled – clearly impressed. "Ha! Good ol' Honkman. All by his lonesome, and the pirates are about to shred him to pieces, but he just can't let me go."

She sighed deeply, almost affectionately. But on the other hand… "Let me blast him." She grinned. "It'll be hilarious."

NegaHonker ignored her, as usual. "He won't last long enough for the pirates to get him!" He barked. "Fire up the power source, it's the-"

He pointed at a button on the dashboard, but Crimson slapped his hand away. "I remember which one it is, thanks." She grumbled. "What is this thing, anyway?"

"Let's just say your old friend the Tron Manipulator wasn't the only thing I stole from Rockerduck," NegaHonker said smugly. "This is how an air navy will change the tide in the Negaverse! Imagine every pirate outfitted with one of _these!_ "

As she pressed the button, the entire plane began to hum… and then a bright glow emanated from the cracks in the metal. Even for the second time in but a few minutes, the mechanism powered up no less dramatically: the sound of crackling electricity and high pitched frequency echoed through the cockpit. Huddled in the corner, Kit could only look around nervously and hope this didn't end as badly as the last time.

Outside, Techno was forced to release the plane – it was simply burning too hot. He pulled back, alarmed, as additional weapons retracted from the chassis. The glow of charging energy down their barrels forced him to look away, and knew he was in for it unless he thought of something.

"Oh. A flock of suped up biplanes, plus an airship of death…" Crimson observed, studying the ins and outs of the scheme instantly. She almost sounded awed, but her tone quickly devolved into its usual disinterest. "And you're just going to 'port them over to the Negaverse and use them for repetitive little war games. How characteristically dull and uninspired."

"Tell me who's dull in ten minutes, when we fry your boy toy," NegaHonker chuckled. He gripped a lever on the dash and slowly pushed it forward, enjoying the whine of building, deadly power. "Just as well, he was shaming my face, anyway."

Crimson stood up in her seat again. "I told you he was mine!" She yelled.

"And I told **you** to zip it!'

Kit laughed loudly in the backseat. "You two sure do make a fine team." He said.

Wordlessly, and without looking, NegaHonker aimed his sidearm at him and Kit quieted down. But in the meantime, Crimson kept her eyes glued to the superhero outside, who seemed ready to move.

"He's figured something out!" She bellowed. "At least do _something!"_

"I intend to!" Without taking his aim off of Kit, NegaHonker used his free hand to pull the lever all the way. A pair of massive lasers shot from the aft, almost too fast for the jet-booted hero to handle. He twisted out of the way, but one of the shots glanced across his armor, painfully burning through.

NegaHonker grinned. "Got you, faker!" He said triumphantly. "And there's more where that came from. With this power source, a weapon like that can be rapid fired!"

Even Crimson was surprised as he pulled the lever again, preparing for another shot that – in Techno's damaged state – could easily prove the young genius' death knell.

But Techno was not out yet. That first hit sent him spinning, but geometry was nothing to a mind like his, and years of friendship with one of the pluckiest ducks in the world had drilled him with a keen instinct. Instead of fighting the spin, he _used_ the rotation.

Quickly schooling his timing, he waited for the right moment and… fired! One second NegaHonker and Crimson were watching his sure demise, the next the windshield of the warplane was covered in thick, windshield wiper-proof glue.

"Gah!" NegaHonker gasped, dropping his pistol. "What?!"

Fear of reprisal or not, Kit couldn't keep down a laugh at the villains' expense, but luckily neither of them were focusing on him just yet.

"I'm pretty sure I taught him that one," Crimson observed, indifferent as always.

"Did you teach him how to _die_ as well?" NegaHonker seethed. "Cause that's all he's going to accomplish!"

"… not the best banter I've heard," Crimson shrugged.

"Silence!" NegaHonker's hands flew over the dashboard, pressing every button and toggling every switch he could reach. Outside, everything from lasers to flamethrowers to a acidic pie launcher popped out of the side of the plane. "Fire everything! **Everything!** See if he has any tricks then!"

But Crimson firmly grabbed his hand and pushed it away from the controls. "You're going to blow up all your precious pirate buddies, stupid." She warned. "Besides, if I know Honk-man…"

Suddenly, she grabbed the pistol from where NegaHonker left it and – with but a moment of tracking - fired upwards. A concussive shot blew through the interior, leaving a gaping hole that cracked the windshield, blasted through the cover of glue and let the air in something fierce. Through the hole, once could just barely make out the blur of Techno flying past, only to get struck by the shot. It exploded on his chest, sending him spiraling downwards.

" _ **What did you do! I-"**_ NegaHonker began to bellow, but Crimson simply talked over him.

"I knew it. He went up, to take out the guns. Figured it was safer, since only a crazy person would fly _at_ the barrel of a death laser." She grinned. "Alas, he learned _that_ from me too."

NegaHonker would not take impeccable logic and prediction for an answer. "You've just wrecked my ace in the hole, you-"

She rolled her eyes. "You're welcome." She said. "Next time I say 'let me blast Techno,' **you** zip it and _let me blast Techno!"_

And with that she threw the pistol aside and dropped down into the chair, instantly bored again. "Could be having a good time, but no. Gotta do all the work around here," she sighed under her breath. "Stupid knockoff Honker in his knockoff Negaquack…"

"We will have words about this…" NegaHonker hissed, still eyeing the hole in the ceiling.

"I doubt it," she droned, completely uncaring. "By the way, you should get this holey bird moving pronto."

"And why is that?" NegaHonker grumbled, though he slowly made his way towards where the radar said the airship was. Unfortunately, it was _too_ slowly in Crimson's opinion. "So you can chase down your beau?"

Crimson sighed, and continued on in a tone much like a depressed substitute teacher addressing a class for the thousandth time. "Techno's down, _for now._ " She glanced at the yoke and clearly thought about just taking it, but shrugged and put it out of her mind. "But that's hardly important. How long do you think it will be before dad and Launchpad get the Thunderquack up and-"

There was another, _much_ stronger _**WHAM!**_ on the side of the warplane. Though they couldn't see it, the roar of what was clearly the Thunderquack's jets echoed from outside.

Crimson simply stared straight ahead, and sighed dispassionately.

"No!" NegaHonker grabbed the yoke and twisted it – there was no clear way of knowing where they were going, but as they were they were sitting ducks. "They won't get the better of me now!"

He slammed his hand on the dashboard, and this time – allies or not – he really did fire anything. They had no way of knowing whether any of the multitude of bullets, lasers, explosions and pies actually hit anything except for the vague sounds of battle renewed outside, but he kept it going anyway.

One of the weapons had to work. He just knew it…

 _ **WHAM!**_ again.

This time, for sure, it was a vitally important wham. Without needing to see it, just from the profound jerk and the way the system flickered dangerously, all inside the warplane realized that they had taken a hit directly in their prized, hi-tech power source.

Almost gracefully – at least, they assumed as much from the inside – the warplane hung in midair, then turned itself downward and dropped from the sky like a stone.

Klaxons were sounding. Lights were flashing. NegaHonker was frantically working the controls, trying to get the plane to respond. "No, no, no! This wasn't supposed to happen! The power source… this plane! It was supposed to clinch my victory!"

Crimson said absolutely nothing in response, but continued to stare impassively at the glued-up windshield. Knowing what was coming, even if NegaHonker was too gripped with fury to realize, Kit grabbed onto whatever he could and braced himself for impact…

The last thing they all heard was a pointed yawn from Crimson, before… _**CRASH!**_

* * *

 _In The Thunderquack,_

Though Crimson and NegaHonker couldn't see it thanks to Techno's gluey gambit, the air was indeed full of pirates once more, intending to take down the Thunderquack a second time. However, they all scattered for dear life when the warplane sent shots every which way, leaving the skies remotely clear… for now.

In their desperation to get off of the island, everyone left who wasn't Techno had stuffed themselves into the Thunderquack at once. While spacious, the jet was not built for that kind of capacity. Darkwing had spent most of the flight shoving people and yelling about the lack of space.

But now he and everyone else were hanging on muted breath as the warplane spiraled out of the sky, and Crimson and Kit along with it, far faster than any of them were comfortable with. The falling plane managed to miss the ocean, and instead careened itself into one of the small, rocky outcroppings that passed for islands in this part of the sea.

Even from their height, they could see that it had smashed to pieces on impact – the twinkle of the damaged power source hanging off the rocks from a thread. It was too far to see any people, but it was easy to assume the worst.

"Holy…" Launchpad turned green. His finger was frozen above the FIRE button that had caused the wreck. "Cripes D.W., I-I didn't mean to-"

"Don't apologize," Darkwing said stiffly. "If anyone made it out of that, she did."

"Then…" Agent Mia sighed, gesturing to the gigantic war machine still in the air not far from them. "… we either go for her, or hit the airship."

Five pairs of eyes turned to her. Even Panchito and the Masked Mallard, who didn't know Crimson near as well, looked surprised at the suggestion. Launchpad and NegaCrimson looked aghast… but Darkwing was simply blank.

"Sorry." She said calmly, to Darkwing in particular. It was an honest suggestion, but also an honest apology. "I don't think we should, but we _did_ need to voice the option."

Darkwing understood. Without saying a word, he turned back and nodded at Launchpad, who took the plane to the rescue with a far-less-dangerous dive. As they rushed to the rescue, he grabbed the radio – there was someone else to consider in all this as well.

"Techno. Tell me you're alright!" Darkwing said, more harshly than usual given the circumstances. The last time they had seen the teen genius, he had – after all – taken an explosive shot to an already damaged chest. "Let me know you're there, kid!"

The sidekick's voice came in with a labored cough, but a pained response was still a response. The others sighed in relief. _"I'm f-fine. I'm heading over to her too…"_ He didn't need to ask which way the others were going. _"But… it might take a while."_

"No worries," Launchpad said, though he kept the channel open just in case it turned out Techno _wasn't_ fine. "We'll get to her even if we have to crash the Thunderquack right on top of them."

It said a lot about how well half the plane's occupants knew their pilot that only Panchito and the Masked Mallard flinched at that. But even so, the others didn't look entirely happy at Launchpad's choice of words.

"Yeah, let's not do that." NegaCrimson said. Her voice was quavering, with something she wasn't entirely sure she understood. "I… I have a bad enough feeling about this already…"

* * *

 _On The Ground,_

Crimson was first aware of the taste. She was literally eating dirt. Bleugh.

She pulled herself up off the ground, grumbling all the while. She, of course, was fine. Nobody who knew Launchpad – let alone a superhero with catlike reflexes – could go home with their head held high if they couldn't walk away from a tumble like that.

"Yow!" Then again, her side did ache a little. If she wasn't hopped up on enough negatrons to quash her concern for such things, she might have risen a bit more carefully. But instead, she took the pain without a second thought.

"All the work. I swear," she said under her breath as she brushed herself off. "This is _way_ less fun than it should be…"

She was fine, obviously. She could ignore the way her side protested whenever she moved for now. So without dwelling on that any further, she took stock of everything else.

There were pieces of warplane everywhere. So much for NegaHonker's perfect weapon to turn the tides of his so-called war back home. Hardly a surprise: like every other advantage he ever thought he had, it had gone up in smoke.

But speaking of advantages… she looked around for their third rider, and found him easily enough. Kit was lying not far from her, unconscious. He'd been roughed up worse than her by the landing, but surprisingly for his decrepit state he still only seemed to have taken a handful of injuries.

Then again, if anyone knew how to survive a plane crash, it was a pilot with decades of experience.

But with the plane in shambles, their hostage safe and her no worse for the wear, that only left…

"C-Crimson. Crimson, turn around dammit!"

… her so-called "boss." She turned, expecting to see him sobbing over the remains of his latest scheme. But instead, she froze.

Suddenly she seemed stunned. Instead of moving one way or the other, she simply stared, mouth slightly ajar. "On… on the other hand…" she whispered, finishing a thought that no one else could hear.

The plane was in even worse shape than she thought. Only half of it was in pieces here in the dirt. The other half – the aft – was hanging off the side of a cliff from a mass of wires and twisted metal. And it looked like NegaHonker had gone through all of that like a jagged comb.

He was uninjured it seemed – because of course he was – but he was tangled in wires and clearly unable to free himself. The wires were taut – they pulled back down over the edge, where the rest of the plane was hanging… and it was starting to fall...

NegaHonker struggled to pull himself further, but in doing so was nearly pulled backwards by the weight… and so, he wisely kept _very_ still. "I can't move, cut me loose already!"

"W-whoa…" Crimson stammered. She was still in shock, for reasons NegaHonker didn't understand. She had been fine a minute ago.

"What are you waiting for?" He slid back another inch. "Get over here!"

But when she moved forward, it was not with the air of rescue. It was more like a couch potato rushing to the screen, as their favorite show unveiled a shocking twist. A surprised, but _very_ excited grin played on her beak. "K-keen gear! This… this is amazing!" She said, almost disbelieving. She made no move to help.

"What in Negaduck's name are you doing?" He stared at her incredulously. It wasn't as if his distress was hard to understand. "Help me!"

But she just looked rapidly from the entangled NegaHonker to the cliffside and back again, giggling like a child. "It's just like a movie, I swear!"

" **I'm slipping, you crazy bird!"** NegaHonker roared. He tried to lunge for her, but he only succeeded and getting himself yanked back – so that he was perilously close to the edge. "Cut these off of me," he gasped, feeling a twinge of something other than annoyance for the first time. "For the love of-"

" **SHUT UP! YOU'RE RUINING THE MOMENT!"**

The outburst stopped him short. "W-what?" He stammered. "What are…"

"Sorry," she said flippantly, though she was breathing heavy. "But you couldn't write a climactic exit like this!" She shuddered gleefully. "I mean, a tumble off a flaming cliff into a burning wreck? Ohoho, that is _so_ cool! Like, Objective Improbable levels of cool!"

NegaHonker could only stare at her, uncomprehending. His mouth worked, nothing coming out, as he flustered trying to think of a way to ask her what the heck she was talking about.

Then, in a moment of terrifying clarity, he realized.

This wasn't a joke. It wasn't one of the resentful barbs he had gotten used to filing away, or ignoring. This was a _show._ As she had said all along, this was nothing but if he wasn't going to provide it otherwise, she was more than happy to get it any other way…

In that short moment, he realized exactly what he had created when he fired the Tron Manipulator. Then he slipped, one last time.

Screaming, he fell. All the way down, and into the pulsing, _searing_ wreck and directly on top of the broken power source. And the whole time, he could see Crimson standing on that cliff, watching. He caught her eyes, and saw the manic fervor he had put there.

And then everything was burning.

* * *

 _In The Thunderquack,_

You didn't have to be on the ground to see NegaHonker sizzle up like a twig in a bonfire. But unlike the young woman watching from the cliffside, no one in the air was capable of enjoying the sight.

Darkwing hands were pressed up against the glass, his eyes glassy and wet. "No… she didn't… she couldn't…"

No one else who knew Crimson could comfort him. She could, and she did. And there was no sugar coating it.

The Masked Mallard didn't know Crimson, so he felt little sadness - only righteous fury. He leapt to his feet, fuming. "She… she just stood there!" He screamed. "Stood there and _watched!_ What kind of sick-"

Agent Mia put her hand on the Mallard's shoulder, which got him to quiet down and look around him. Where he was full of outrage, everyone else was visibly distraught. There wasn't a bill in the Thunderquack that wasn't twisted in horror.

This, he realized, was even worse than he thought. And it already looked bad.

The Thunderquack was in hover mode – Launchpad couldn't bring himself to move it. It felt like ages before anyone could even say anything.

NegaCrimson broke the silence, though her miserable whisper may have been meant only for herself. "She's never going to forgive herself."

" _It's not her fault!"_ Techno snarled through the open channel. His anger was misplaced, he knew, and his sudden defensiveness wasn't helping anyone. But he had to do it anyway. He **had** to. _"She's not herself!"_

NegaCrimson looked sadly at the radio. She knew what he was feeling all too well. She couldn't see him out the window, but he was somewhere out there alone, watching it as she was. It may have been worse for him to see than Darkwing, who could barely speak.

So for his sake, she didn't shout back. Or perhaps she simply couldn't bring that much energy out. "I know that. You know that. Intellectually, **she'll** know that. But take it from someone who knows." She looked down at her feet, and the next words came out very quietly. "It doesn't matter if your mind is twisted, or whether someone _made_ you want to do something horrible. You still wanted to do it. You… you still _did it."_

She leaned back as far as she could, water welling up in her eyes. "And she'll always remember that. Just… just like me."

For a moment, it sounded like Techno wanted to keep arguing, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. His fight crumbled, and after second they could hear him quietly choking back sobs.

Everyone stayed this way, too stunned to know what to do next, until the gloom was again broken by the Mallard's shrill voice.

"Wait, where is she?!"

They all flew to the windshield. It was true: they had been so distracted, that none of them had noticed that neither Crimson nor Kit were on the cliff any longer. The looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of where she had gone, but she made herself known soon enough.

"Avast, ground-lubbers!"

One of the pirates' biplanes sped past the windshield. It began to circle Thunderquack, as if to mock everyone inside. Kit was hastily thrown into one of the plane's seats, and there – standing daringly on the wing – was Crimson.

In the span of a few minutes, she had done something of a quick change. She was now wearing a longcoat and tricorne hat around her torn hero outfit - evidently snatched from the pilot, who was wearing nothing but a ratty old shirt and nursing a black eye.

She twirled about and laughed uproariously, letting the coat fly in the wind. When nobody responded to her taunt, she finally "noticed" the grave faces before her.

"Say, who died? Oh, right." She waved it all off like it was some minor misfortune. "Psh, seriously? You guys really care that the idiot finally got himself killed?"

She looked to the still-burning wreck and spit in its direction, not caring that she could hardly have hit her mark. "Come on, I nearly _blew up a school_ and you guys didn't look this tragic!"

"It's not him we're thinking of," NegaCrimson said coldly.

Crimson pretended that this was news to her. "Oh, whatever. We'll fix that soon. And on the plus side, I think I've finally thought up a new name. **The Crimson Marauder!"** She struck a pose that fully showed off the new swashbuckling additions to her outfit. "What do you think? Totally roguish, right?"

"I _think_ we've officially let this go way too far," Darkwing finally said, with a ragged determination. His gaze, a second ago weak and unsure, was now steely.

Crimson grinned, like the cheeky kid she once one. "Are you kidding? You should be happy for me!" She said. "I get to be a pirate! Every kid's dream!"

"Not yours," Darkwing replied. " _You_ wanted to be a superhero."

"Well, nobody's perfect. Case in point," she gestured back to the wreck. What's left of the plane finally fell off the cliff and landed in the water. She laughed nastily at this undignified end.

"You're not getting out of this sweetie," Darkwing said firmly. "You're coming with us. And this… we'll save you from this."

"Wanna bet?" Her smiled didn't waver. She pointed straight down, and everyone caught sight of a shape moving straight for them at a stuttering, shaky pace.

It was Techno. His jets were malfunctioning and his armor was in tatters, but he didn't care. He only had eyes for his ex-partner. " **Crimson!"** He bellowed. In his emotional state, he thought he could tackle her off the wing. But she had other plans.

She hopped off of the wing – surprising her poor pilot in the process – and fell straight at him. The sudden motion caught him by surprise, and so he didn't think to dodge until it was too late. He was caught right in the head with a blistering divekick, and was rendered unconscious immediately.

Crimson's pirate pilot caught wind by then, and swooped her out of their before she could fall any further. But Techno wasn't so lucky: he dropped lazily from the air, this time unable to save himself. Instead of one of the islands, he was headed for nothing but open water – and out cold as he was, without a rebreather he would quickly drown.

The others clamored forward to catch of glimpse of where he landed, as Crimson's swooped past the window yet again. "You should probably save him!" she said airily as she passed, not even bothering to slow down. "It'd be a shame if we lost two of them in one day, right?"

"But… Kit…" The Masked Mallard squeaked, but he knew she was right the same as all of them. They had no choice, and there was no time to waste before Techno died too.

He knew it would rip his and everyone's heart out once again, but Launchpad pulled away from the pursuit and sped the Thunderquack down towards the literally fallen hero, leaving the only _figuratively_ fallen Crimson to escape yet again.

None of them – not even the Mallard or Panchito – could bring themselves to look back, lest they change their minds. But it might have been imagination, as they went their separate ways.

One could almost hear her say: "besides, I'm not done with him yet…"

* * *

 _Some Time Later, Outside St. Canard,_

When Techno finally awoke, it was with a horrible cough. He felt like he had been ejecting half the ocean, and his waterlogged… _everything…_ hardly dissuaded him from the idea.

The archipelago was nowhere to be seen. They were on a beach on the edge of St. Canard – in fact, the one where they had first met Neptunia, long ago. He and Gosalyn used to love coming to this place when they were kids, at least when it wasn't clogged with trash. But that only reminded him…

He sat up as sharply as he could – everything _did_ still ache. He could easily spot most of the gang in the area somewhere, most standing around his… gurney? How long had he been out? The Thunderquack was parked not far away, but didn't look like it was going anywhere for a while. Darkwing was off to the side, staring off into the sea. Panchito and the Masked Mallard were off in the distance, giving the others some space. NegaCrimson was by his side, but that wasn't enough. There was only one person he wanted to see.

The fact that she wasn't there front and center was proof enough, but he had to try. He looked back and forth, hoping despite himself that he might see Crimson among the friends staring down at him in concern. But…

… nothing.

"She got away," he said bluntly.

Launchpad sighed. Techno jumped - he hadn't even realized the pilot was behind him. "… yeah."

"She even has a new name," NegaCrimson said bitterly, as if the thought tasted badly when vocalized. "The Crimson Marauder. Ugh."

" _How?_ Couldn't we have just followed the airship?"

"With that many pirates flying around, plus its defenses? It's a miracle the Thunderquack didn't get ripped apart _before_ it took all that damage," Launchpad tried to explain, but Techno could see through all that. If it was even the slightest bit possible, Launchpad would daringly flown the Thunderquack into danger even if it only had one wing and half an engine. He gave the pilot a weary look, and Launchpad realized his reasons weren't working. "We tried..." he sighed. "But after we fished you out of the ocean, it was just _gone._ "

"No trace. No idea how," NegaCrimson grunted. "Joy, another mystery."

"So it was thanks to me. Again."

"It's not your fault, Techno," Darkwing said mutely. But in Techno's mind that rang hollow, when Darkwing wouldn't even turn to look at him. So instead, he doubled down.

"I don't want to hear it." He snapped, with an uncharacteristic coldness. "It _is_ my fault! I keep failing her again and again! How can I be…" He paused, unable to bare it all out loud. "… everything I'm _supposed_ to be to her, if I can only make things worse when she desperately needs me!"

He tried to rise off the gurney, no doubt to stalk into the sunset and wallow in his bitter feelings, but a firm hand forced him to lie back again. It was NegaCrimson.

There could never be any offense meant by it, but in this moment he could only feel she made a terrible consolation for his own Crimson. And she knew he would feel that way, but she also knew there was something he needed to hear.

So instead of giving him space, she leaned down and peered into his visored eyes. "I know this is awkward coming from me, but you are not the problem. You never could be, not when you're a hell of a lot better than my version of you was!" Despite the fact that he was newly departed, her face twisted just thinking about Techno's twisted double. "If you're going to blame anyone, blame _him._ Not yourself."

Techno went silent. None of them would forget the sight of NegaHonker falling off that cliff any time soon. "I would never have forgiven him for what he did, but nobody deserves what he got." He breathed. "You were right. She's never going to forgive herself."

"Not if she's alone, that's for sure." They all looked up: Darkwing finally turned back and rejoined them.

The point was clear. Darkwing wasn't blaming him, and Techno felt relieved. From the look in the caped hero's eyes, he was done with things like blame at all. So Techno would have to be too.

"… thanks," he nodded, pulling together his resolve. It was not the time for pity. It was time for ideas. "But… if we're going to be there for her. We'll need to think outside the box."

NegaCrimson cocked her head. "Meaning?"

"Meaning on our own, with our resources, we're never going to crack this."

"I can give it another try," Agent Mia said. She had been standing next to Launchpad, which was not a surprise. Techno was happy his old friend was able to get the companionship he couldn't, at least if he was understanding that relationship right. "But it'll take a miracle to change Navis' mind now." Mia looked to her feet. "SHUSH almost certainly won't help without an incredibly good reason."

"It's alright," Techno said, and he genuinely meant it. "That's not what I meant." Now he had everyone's attention, even Darkwing's. "Like I said, outside the box. But first I have to make a call or two. Which means we need that plane running. Can I get up now?"

NegaCrimson and Launchpad shared a look, and then – warily – his partner's double relented. Techno popped off of the gurney and hopped into the Thunderquack as fast as he could with deluged feathers – though not before, with a bit of his polite charm returning, giving his thanks to everyone for saving his life.

Meanwhile, the last two heroes of the day – failed though they were – watched from a safe distance. They didn't want to intrude on the conversation, and quite honestly they had their own insecurities to work though.

The Masked Mallard spotted Techno's exit, and breathed a sigh of relief for Panchito to hear. "Well, it looks like they at least have an idea for going forward. That's a relief."

"Si," Panchito replied. He yawned slightly - it had been a very exhausting day - but stood straight. Of everyone, he seemed the most solid after everything that happened. A product of experience, he supposed. It was hard to keep a good rooster down. "As long as you have just _one_ idea, the adventure is not over."

The Mallard cracked a smile, but it didn't last long. He tensed all over, staring down at his clenched fists. "I'm… I'm sorry, Uncle Panchito. I should've been there. If I hadn't fallen for that stupid trap, or if I'd had the presence of mind to do _anything_ when Crimson attacked us, then…"

Panchito grabbed his shoulder and turned his costumed charge to face him. "Obvidalo, msdal aqueros…" He sighed. "This was… bad, all ways around. There was nothing you or any of us could do."

It was fine advice, but the Mallard was not so old that his eyes had yet lost that sad, childish gleam. "But we lost Kit."

"And you honestly think that's it?" Panchito cuffed him gently on the arm. "Is that what your Uncle Donald would say? What your brothers would say?"

"… no." The Mallard said, after a long pause. "You're right. I trust Darkwing. He'll get us through this."

"That makes one of us." They both jumped as that very terror that flaps appeared behind them. "Though it helps to know people still believe in me, even if I don't much feel like I deserve it."

Neither Panchito or the Masked Mallard knew Darkwing personally, but they knew him well enough to understand that him feeling like he didn't deserve acclaim was serious.

"There's a bit of that going around, but don't give up on us now," the Mallard forced a smile, and it was almost infectious. "That's something the Masked Mallard won't allow."

"Aye aye!" Panchito whooped. "You'll keep at it even if we have to hogtie you, my friend."

Darkwing smirked, amused. "Won't that make it hard to keep heroing anyway?"

"You'd be surprised."

"We do what we can," the Mallard said, the humor dying down. "And times like this, well… let's say you were right." Darkwing and Panchito looked at him, and he stepped back sheepishly. "I've… uh… been convinced to take your advice. About my… other obligations."

Panchito clapped him on the back. "Smart man, mi hijo!"

"Panchito's right." Darkwing said, allowing himself a bit of pride. "Don't let your family slip through your fingers, especially over so little. They're precious."

The Mallard nodded, then turned to the rest of Team Darkwing – who were now all pitching in get the Thunderquack somewhere north of "prone to explode once the power comes on."

"So…" he said seriously. "What happens now?"

"Now we do some tracking," said Darkwing. " You have any leads on where the pirates are based now, or how they managed to get away from us so quickly?"

They both shook their heads. "Kit knew them inside and out. He was the one who kept us up to date on what they were up to. Without him…" He trailed off, in a mix of anger and frustration. "…I'm going to do everything I can to help you get what's precious to you back, Darkwing, you have my word. But I'm here for Kit too."

Darkwing took zero offense. "We all are, kid." He said kindly. It was odd, seeing even _him_ so strong after such a hard time. The Mallard had to wonder if he'd gone through so much bad that he'd just looped back around into straight determination.

Just as well. That's what was going to win the day. "Keep me in the loop. Please."

Panchito nodded. "We get one, we get the other. Maybe we take down Pete, maybe we don't. All that matters is they come back safe. Both of them."

The look on Darkwing's face was far more grateful than he wanted to let on. "Keep your lines open. I'll give you a call." He said, before turning about and heading back to the rest of his team.

Once he was a few yards away, the Mallard turned to Panchito and said. "I know this is a bad time to think this, but… I wonder if that means we're in. Like, _in._ "

Before Panchito could respond, Darkwing's voice came loud from across the beach. "Not yet, you're not!"

He shrugged. "Yeah, that's fair." If there was ever a time to take one thing at a time, it was now. They would get there eventually, but they had more important things to worry about.

And speaking of which...

"Hey Panchito!" the Mallard turned suddenly. "What about your boat?"

Panchito froze... and it didn't take long for realization to kick in. This time the rooster did slump, for reasons that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

"... ay, caramaba."

* * *

 _The Airship Still Not Named Pete's Mighty Fist, Indeterminate_

The Crimson Marauder sauntered down the hangar. It had only been a day, and she was already enjoying this new, free pirate life.

No annoying schemer yammering in her ear. No overbearing father or complicated relationship trying to hold her back. Just her, and whatever means she could think of to keep her thrills going forever… and yes, she had quite the plan for that. Which for now, involved two helpless prisoners trussed up all to herself, in dire need of some tender, love and care.

What a fine afternoon to be a heartless vagabond!

She had since completed her pirate look with a pair of boots – Silk Socked Shorty would have to go shoeless for now – and they were made for walking. The other pirates stepped out of her way as she passed, some in awe of her exploits, others with some obvious resentment.

She supposed with NegaHonker gone, some of the crew were wondering what the point of having her aboard was. She would "convince" them easily enough, some with a bit more bruises than the others.

But there was one on board she wouldn't be able to stuff overboard when push came to shove, and she knew. Sooner or later, she would need to have a talk with…

"Oi, girlie! I'd stop in yer tracks if you know what's good for you."

… Pete. Better sooner than later, she supposed.

"Ahoy-hoy, big guy!" She said, intentionally affecting a voice she knew Pete would find annoying. The massive snarl on his face did not disappoint. "How goes the pillaging, plundering, rifling and looting, me hearty?"

"Clever." Pete said, sneering. "But then, I pegged you as clever the moment you stepped on board."

"You have no idea how refreshing that is." She said, beaming in response. "The idiot I came aboard with never took his beak out of his own behind."

"Preachin' to the choir, girl. But that don't give you a pass." Pete jabbed his finger into her face, an intimidating gesture to be sure. Or it would be, if she looking at him at all. But suddenly, she wasn't. "Hey, are you listenin' or what?!"

She was not. They happened to be standing in front of one of the airship's windows, and Crimson had been caught by the view through extra-strength glass.

It wasn't that she was ignoring Pete – he was much more fun to deal with than her former accessory – but it was a grand sight. And quite the rush, literally sneaking under Darkwing's nose so easily.

It really was ingenious, the way they gave her old team the slip. This airship might have been the third best thing from the Air Pirates' old secret weapon, but it did have one thing over the Iron Vulture: it was fully submersible, up to five leagues below the surface of the water.

There was nothing but ocean out the windows as far as the eye could see. And there wasn't even a leak to be found anywhere, which was saying something given how at times the thing felt like it was pieced together with duct tape.

Not even J. Gander Hooter in his prime would have thought to look for them down there, at least not at first, and it has certainly fooled Darkwing straight away. She may have admired her heroic father's resourcefulness even now, in a mostly antagonistic way of course, but my could he be a fool sometimes.

She blinked herself back into the conversation. Pete looked twice as angry, which made her disappointed to be missing out. "Sorry… well, not really, but I'd love to hear what's on your mind, Pietro."

Pete took the interruption in stride – another thing she liked about him. NegaHonker would have kept on whining about it. "I'll lay it straight," He growled. "What exactly did you do to the boss?"

She smirked. "Oh?"

"Don't 'oh' me. I don't know what you said or promised, but he's over the moon." Pete said darkly. "Says he wants you in charge, instead 'a me. How about that, eh?"

Pete was now leaning dangerously close to her personal space. He was probably thinking about offing her on the spot. She relished the challenge, whichever way this moment went.

"I just generously gave the 'great' Don Karnage the fruits of my little treasure hunting expedition as tribute." She said with an "innocent" titter and a clearly false bow. "More of that gold you went through all that trouble smuggling here. And there's more still where that came from."

Pete's eyes narrowed. "Which would be..?"

As if she would let it go just like that. The information had _not_ been easy to glean from McDuck's files. "Why Pete, are you trying to goad me into giving you my intel, so you can perhaps betray me and take your top dog… sorry, top _cat_ position back?"

"Just makin' sure we're on the same page." He said. He circled around her, a steady _step, clop, step, clop_ following him as he went. "The way the boss is now, he'd do whatever you tell him. Which ain't good, far as I can tell."

Crimson snorted. "Yeah, addiction will do that to you."

To her delight, instead of being affronted Pete just rolled his eyes. "Who're you tellin'? You only just got here. I'm the one who had 'ta deal with him since. I got… let's call it seniority."

"And you're afraid I'm taking your spot?" She cooed, like she would to a baby. "Don't be so green eyed, Peg-Leg. I'm not stepping on your toes." She feigned sheepishness and glanced obviously at his false leg. "Oops!"

"Just makin' sure you've got our best interests at heart, in the midst of whatever yer obvious plan is now."

That was _also_ refreshing. Pete was well aware that she was using her freedom to stretch her sense of cunning, he just wasn't sure if he cared. He was probably also aware that these pirates were a ramshackle operation, same as her – they had hired _him_ , after all – and he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to be keep juggling plates on the path down their downward spiral, either.

Which meant he was actually open to a new heading, if the case was strong and the benefits were good. And they were _definitely_ good, even if what Crimson wanted out of the deal was completely alien to what anyone else would be getting.

"Let me put it this way." She said, a challenge in her eyes. "When's the last time you – _any_ of these brutes – had a really good score. And I don't mean rinky dink traders, or spy ships with intel you don't actually intend to sell. Money beyond your imagination."

"Fat chance," Pete shot, "I can imagine quite a bit."

He probably could, actually. Bad example. "Money beyond _their_ imagination, then," she amended. "Let's say, a whole city's worth. Every last locked vault, every oblivious storefront, every fat little wallet. From bridge to shining bridge."

The surrounding crew stopped what they were doing and blatantly pulled themselves into the conversation. Eavesdropping was not uncharted ground for a pirate, but she'd barely ever seen any that were this obvious.

Pete didn't look disbelieving, or surprised. His eyes simply narrowed. Which made sense, if he had gotten a read of her so easily. "… all that, huh?"

She looked around at the lot of them, grinning like a predator. _"And_ a bag of chips, if you want one."

"These pirates have tried scores like that before."

"Only indirectly. Holding a city hostage with a giant doomsday device is fun, but obviously ineffective," she said slyly, earning her reproachful looks from the crew but an appraising look from Pete. "But if we do it my way, they'll be practically _giving_ us what we want."

Pete eyed her for a long time. She matched his look, and didn't once break gaze.

After a moment he grinned as well. "… alright, then. I don't care about nothin' except gettin' paid anyhow. But if this scheme you're so obviously settin' up ends with us under the bus…" He clenched his fist, and somehow managed to crack every bone in his hand at the same time. "I've been doin' this a long time, girlie. You think burnin' up in an experimental piece of hardware is bad? You ain't seen nothin' yet..."

And he walked off, his false leg clopping loudly against the floor as he shoved flustered eavesdroppers out of his way. She was left with the wild urge to run up and kick him in the pants, just for the fun of duking it out.

A good time, but that would have to wait. She still had guests to entertain.

"You heard the man!" She yelled to the crew, who were now trying to pretend like they weren't listening in. "Move all the dead moron's stuff to my quarters! There's work to be done!"

The lot of them scurried off, now with purposes to be fulfilled - same as herself. But hers would be a mite more fun than pushing boxes.

She got to the brig within five minutes, thanks to the spring in her step. For such a compact airship, there was quite the row of cells – but only two of them held any of her interest. She went for the closest to the entrance first.

The cell was so dank it had to be intentional. The Air Pirates had been waiting to get their hands on this prisoner since before any of the current group were born, so that made sense. Kit Cloudkicker sat in the middle, a half dozen chains latched around him here and there. Yet somehow, he had the nerve to look pensive.

That's what she always liked about Kit: his grit. But it was about time to put a chink in that armor.

"I've got good news and bad news, Kit old boy," she said as she walked up to the cell. No need for "hellos" between friends.

Kit's head darted upwards, but he didn't bother asking what she meant. He knew she intended to enjoy herself by elaborating.

And she did, even if it was an obvious thrill. "The Sky Pirates think they need you on board, for intel or for revenge or any number of other excuses. But they don't. Your presence here is completely pointless."

"So what's the bad news?" He said sarcastically.

"That _is_ the bad news," she said. "It's also the good news. It's a mixed bag, but the point is that with none of them knowing what to do with you, _I_ get to have you instead!" She gripped the bars on his window and pressed her beak through, playing up her manic side. "Aren't you lucky?"

"And what do you plan to do?"

She raised what was one NegaHonker's pistol from behind her back and aimed it through the bars. "I'm going to do the best I can… eventually. But before then, I'm going to need the occasional stress relief."

Kit's eyes widened, but he didn't look afraid. He just looked… disappointed. "This isn't the best you can. I've seen the best you can." The somber tone in his voice made Crimson groan, but he continued anyway. "You don't want to do this, Crimson."

She sighed deeply. "How many people do I have to have this conversation with…" She grumbled under her breath, but loudly enough for Kit to hear.

"At least once more," he stirred with determination. It was a struggle to raise himself up, but move he did, until he was up close to the bars as well. "Fight this, Crimson… Gosalyn!" He yelled desperately, only barely aware of how lucky he was no one dangerous was around to hear the name. "There has to be some part of you that screaming against what you're doing!"

Instead of answering, she aimed the gun and fired it at Kit's feet. The detonation rocked the cell. When the dust cleared, Kit was on the ground again – and he hurt everywhere it was possible to do so. And Crimson was still standing, viciously leering down at her captive.

"I think that's what kills me the most," she said. "The total lack of understanding. I almost wish you could see it, the way I do. There's no fighting. I'm living an upheaval. A… catharsis. It's actually quite freeing, you should try it sometime."

She flashed a charming smile. It made Kit sick to his stomach.

"Not my cup of tea," he growled under his breath. No matter how much it hurt, he realized he would have to treat her like any other enemy. Right down to the banter. "Do your worst, pirate. I'll live. I always do."

"Heh," she chuckled. She didn't entirely respond to his change in demeanor. She was miles away, staring into space with rapturous excitement. "You say that now, but so do lots of people. "Kit wasn't sure which part of what he said she was responding to. Maybe she didn't, either.

Suddenly she focused, and fired the gun again - this time _just_ above Kit's head. He ducked as best he could, and only barely avoided serious injury. His head was ringing, but he could still hear her voice…

"Just you wait. One day soon, I won't have to wish…"

When he looked back up, she was already gone - halfway down the corridor, having left him behind entirely. He almost felt glad.

The other captive, however, was not so happy.

Unlike Kit, the Dark Avenger did not perk up when Crimson neared her cell. She stared at the ground, her expression impossible to see from Crimson's point of view. Her arms and legs were bound, and the lights in the cell were broken to keep her from scratching anything legible on the walls – like an escape plan. No doubt she had already proven too dangerous for the rank and file pirates meant to guard her.

Well, almost. She hadn't escaped yet. And with the Crimson Marauder now more or less in charge, she wouldn't at all.

She didn't let Crimson have the first word, however, which was annoying to the newfound pirate. "I hope you don't think I'll give you the pleasure of appealing to your good side." She breathed, almost calmly – but with a twinge of tension, in the end. "Unlike Cloudkicker, I am under no delusions about your nature."

"Oh? So no banter? No declarations about how you're going to save me from myself and reach my good side? Come on, say something!"

She looked up. Her eyes were like pinpricks in the dark. "You're not the Crimson Avenger any more. To treat you like her is to do her a disservice."

Now _this,_ Crimson thought, was more like it… even if the negative comparison to her saintly former self was _also_ annoying. "And what about me?"

" _You?"_ The Dark Avenger scoffed, her red hair shaking around her hat in ragged strands. She had been in here for far too long. "You may have been twisted against your will, but that doesn't matter. You're a monster. What's left of your old self would thank me for finishing you."

Crimson hardly took the threat seriously. In fact, she laughed uproariously, banging her head against the cell. The Dark Avenger scowled, but she hardly cared. "What in the _world_ makes you think you're capable of such a thing?" Crimson choked out, between racking laughs.

This struck a nerve. The sound of metal clanging metal rang as the Dark Avenger jerked her restraints. This only made Crimson want to laugh, but she forced herself to calm down some – at least enough to get her latest demoralizing speech out.

"Seriously, can I just acknowledge how badly you messed up thus far? How screwed you were from day one?" She said. "You tried to piggy back on a SHUSH outpost, and any old outpost would have done, but you picked the one that was already a criminal front. That's irony, right there."

The Dark Avenger jerked against her bonds again as Crimson continued. "And then you, master predator against evil that you are, completely failed to realize you found the mother lode. And missed the fact that it was looking straight back at you."

"I'd say you were outmaneuvered, but you did half the work yourself!" Crimson said finishing the recap. "But you're going to 'finish me.' You and what army, beautiful?" She leaned into the cell, the same she did with Kit. The Avenger was unmoved, save for the increasing strain on her restraints.

"Your weapons are mine now. Your schematics are mine now. _You_ are mine now."

"If you want anything from me, you might as well kill me!" The Dark Avenger spat out. "Because I'll never work for you."

Crimson waved this off. "You'd like that wouldn't you, Miss 'Nearly Blew Herself Into A Crater.'" She turned and began walking away, smiling in a way that – alone - made the Dark Avenger fling herself against her binds. "No, I've got plans for you. And you're going to make yourself useful, one way or another."

She passed by Kit's cell, and spared him a cheerful glance. He glared back at her, to little effect. When she reached the door to the brig she stopped short, grinning through one last jeer.

"Until then, enjoy your stay!" She chuckled. "You know me: always here to help a poor, homeless friend. Just try to have a little fun. After all…"

Then she left, without only her parting words to keep the prisoners company in the dark, dank solitude.

"… we're _all_ honorary pirates, now…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And so NegaHonker died the way he lived. Making other characters more interesting.

Between NegaHonker's exit and the close call with the Dark Avenger, this is probably the darkest chapter of a fanfic I've ever penned. But also one I've been looking forward to: the NegaHonker scene is the very first scene I thought of for this arc, and everything else has been kind of built around it, especially the personality of the Crimson Marauder - as she shall be referred to now.

Duck references of the day: my favorite, the backstory of the Air Pirates' enduring power. The answer? A small bit of SHUSH resources beneath everyone's notice. I knew I wanted to get a little Talespin reference in there, so I decided to incorporate a character from one of my favorite episodes: "Louie's Last Stand." George Benson is a stubborn little manipulator, but as always he picked off more than he could chew. Another fun one is a reference to my favorite line in the original Darkwing show, see if you can find it.

Speaking of the original Darkwing, after working on this off and on for a while it was seeing the return of DW on Ducktales that really reinvigorated me. I went back and forth on incorporating things from the new show in this fic, which is otherwise based solidly on the original Disney Afternoon series. For a while I thought about maybe having Webby grow into some of her reboot personality as a teenager, but decided against it (but the indecision is why she ended up not being in the Duckburg arc). Now I'm thinking maybe I can homage it in some ways in the next few chapters.

But that's uncertain, and a true hero must focus on what they can find here and now... at least, that's what NegaCrimson will discover next time. Beware **The Mystery of the Kindly Clown** , next time on Retake Five!


	14. The Case of the Kindly Clown

**Disclaimer:** This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's **_extremely_** important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

 **The War on Gosalyn – The Mystery of the Kindly Clown**

* * *

 _Evening, On The Rooftops of St. Canard_

St. Canard. A town mired in sin, in a universe overstuffed with positrons. Like its heroes, it was a selfish town. An impulsive town. A town too clever for its own good. Yet also a compassionate town. An indomitable town. A town with it's own sense of honor shining in the darkness.

Darkwing and his family were well suited here. But NegaGosalyn… no, she never felt that way. She came from a land where – most days – honor and compassion were just dreams. She wanted those things – wanted them so badly – but she often failed to find them.

Maybe that's why she was here, in this town, avoiding her newfound responsibility instead of back home trying to make her world a better place.

She grunted to herself. Excellent – she had come on patrol by herself to try and clear her head, and instead she was focusing on all her problems from back home. Though she supposed it beat focusing on the problems here.

There was still no sign of this universe's Gosalyn. Thanks to those responsibilities NegaGosalyn neglected – thanks to _her -_ one of the finest ducks she had ever known had been reduced to an insane menace, with none of them having any idea how to undo it. This world looked a little less bright, and anything that made it resemble the Negaverse was just… wrong.

But she couldn't think about that now, or she – as NegaGosalyn – might falter. This world would not see her cry, figuratively speaking, not when she was supposed to be the Crimson Avenger. And until the role's rightful holder was returned safe and sane, she would fill the part to the best of her ability.

Poised on a shadowed rooftop, she scanned the skyline for a crime – any kind of crime. A bank robber. A stockbroker. Anything. She needed the distraction.

There wasn't much to see. People on the streets. Dirigibles with Glomgold Industries advertisements floating far overhead: a little animated short of a smiling Glomgold shaking hands with children with the words "HEAR FROM THE REAL HERO OF ST. CANARD AT 11." A gaggle of TeleConstructors hovered past the rooftop, on their way to another construction site.

That was one difference – two, technically. Ever since the theft of Scrooge McDuck's prototype months ago – at least, as far as Darkwing and friends told her – those things had been popping up throughout the city in droves, hard at work building new bits of money and power for the magnates feuding over the city. Glomgold was either sending them to every corner of the city, or plastering his face all over everywhere else. And even McDuck's St. Canard headquarters was positively swarming with them, after that little crash a few weeks back.

If she looked close, she could probably discern whether these were Scrooge's, or one of Glomgold's "just different enough to avoid lawsuit" knockoffs. But she didn't care much. She had more important things to worry about.

Such as that telltale sound of tinkling glass, faint amongs the hustle and bustle of the desensitized metropolis. A robbery!

Her eyes scanned the grimly lit streets: two blocks down. A small time business owner locking up for the night. Two burly ducks armed with small arms, intending to use the cover of night to hide a break in. A potentially deadly confrontation.

The night would offer these criminals no cover: they had yet to realize what was ''truly'' the most dangerous thing in the dark.

… perhaps her inner monologues could stand a bit more cheer. But that was neither here nor there…

The head crook - a duck with hair so long he would didn't need a mask to hide his face – pressed the shopkeeper into the wall, while the other continued to smash up the store window.

"Like, chill out dude." He said, painfully lifting the duck to eye level. "Just stay frosty and, like, nothin's gonna harsh your flow."

In the face of what sounded like the most dangerous slacker in the world, the everyday citizen had no defense but a smidge of confusion. "… I have no idea what you're talking about, but whatever you want!"

Sensing an easy operation, the robber grinned. "Suh-weet!" He called out to his partner. "Ease up on that glass, Kay. We totally gotta split with the swag before we get pinched!"

The sound of breaking glass stopped… in fact, it had stopped a few moments before, but neither crook nor victim had been paying much attention. Either way, he assumed his message had gotten across… but then after a moment, it became clear there was little movement going on from one side of the broken storefront to the other.

Whipping around, the crook leveled a glare that could have blistered milk if anyone could actually see his eyes until the mop of hair. "Kay, like, what're you up to back here? This ain't an arca-"

Finally, he noticed. "Kay" was nowhere to be found. But there _was_ a shadow forming…

The caped blur moved before he could react. In an instant, the shopkeeper was knocked out of his hand, and an instant later he had been knocked head over heels into the sidewalk. He skidded several feet until he slammed into something surprisingly doughy.

He looked up - it seems he had found Kay: slumped against a fire hydrant, out cold.

So much for his brother-in-law's invaluable help. But one didn't get to be the _leader_ of an illustrious two-man 80's-to-90's themed criminal enterprise without some hardiness. He rose, spitting his hair out of his face, and squared off against his sudden opponent.

"Wait a minute…" he coughed, looking her over. The hat was familiar, but striking first and asking questions later? Seemed a bit suspect. "Aren't you…"

The shopkeeper, who was only a little bruised for his trouble, also tried figuring it out in lieu of running. "I think that might be the Crimson Avenger…" he said, tilting his head like he was looking at abstract art. "Maybe… she's a little weird, though."

"Crimson" internally winced… she had forgotten to do the motto again. No matter. She could just do it now, if they were so confused.

With a jerk that made both parties jump, she spread her arms wide and flung her cape into the wind.

"I am the heir to the cape!" She said in a sharp, cold voice.

It took some effort suppressed the annoying inner voice that kept telling her _"no, you're not."_ She knew that already…

"I am the hammer that crushes the brittle bones of the unjust!" The other two jumped again, which she took to mean her words had the intended effect. Who knew when it came to this city…

"I…" She transitioned into an action pose, cracking every knuckle she had in preparation for the beatdown to come. "… am the Crimson Avenger!"

There. That was impressive enough. She had even left the shopkeeper stunned. Though that may have been a hint of fear…

… tailfeathers, had she overdone it _again?_

The head crook snapped out of it first. "And I'm about to be _soooo_ famous!" He shouted as he ran towards her, no doubt thinking he could take her out all on his lonesome.

Seriously? And she had thought the Fearsome Five were a bunch of numbskulls, back in the day…

It wasn't hard to set him straight. With her usual quick draw she pulled out her gas gun, switched out for another loadout, and watched as the hapless burglar took several thousand volts of taser. His hair went flying in every direction, and he started shaking like a bowl of jello.

"Aaagggh… bogus!" He stammered, barely able to tell which way was up, but somehow able to stay on his feet regardless.

Seeing that her quarry was still standing – even if he wasn't liable to be doing any more damage by that point - "Crimson" dashed forward and delivered a devastating punch straight to the gut, then a spinning kick that laid him out on top of his unconscious cohort. He wasn't exactly able to stand after that.

Then, in one final movement, she switched the loadout of her gas gun once more and fired a grappling net, which entangled the two robbers and suspended them – snoozing and upside down - from the nearest lamppost.

Done, and done.

The shopkeeper's eyes were as wide as saucers. "… whoa, that was brutal!"

He only realized he'd said that out loud after it was too late to take it back. He jumped, expecting to be in trouble, and looked up at his savior… only to find nothing but a blank street.

The only thing left behind was a wallet, which must have fallen from one of the burglars during their wild ride. Really, he knew he shouldn't, but you didn't get to be a businessman on the mean streets of St. Canard without a _little_ bit of vice.

"Well, I guess I do need to pay for my window." He said, reaching down to pick it up. "I guess I'll just…"

A familiar shadow loomed once more over the street in front of him. Vice or not, let it not be said that he was a numbskull too…

He gulped and dropped the wallet like it burned him. "… like I said, I'll just leave this alone and hope there's a reward. Yup."

The shadow vanished. And meanwhile, the thoroughly spooked shopkeeper rushed back into his business to call the police.

NegaGosalyn swung back up to her perch, too lost in thought to give a care about what the people below did – at least for the moment.

That was one less incident that could have cost lives. From an outside perspective, it was a job well done. The people were safe once again, maybe even having learned a lesson along the way, but she still felt deep down – as always - like she had somehow botched it. She was supposed to be upholding her double's stalwart and virtuous reputation, but here she was breaking bones and spooking the populace. She must have looked like a demon out there.

In the Negaverse, such things were necessary to maintain order. But here in the Posiverse, she could be better. And despite her teammates' glowing statements to the contrary, it still didn't feel like she was living up to Darkwing's standards.

The people had noticed, here and there, that she was different. Not that anybody realized it was literally a different Crimson Avenger patrolling the streets at night. They attributed NegaCrimson's blunt approach and lack of joviality to their heroine going through a rough time – or at least what ended up on their blogs posts and news feeds. And that was believable, what with Crimson spearheading the fight against Negaduck's invasion only to – from their point of view - have to deal with another evil duplicate on top of it.

But it was still noticeable. Darkwing only said things about it here or there, and when he did it was almost always to _understand_ rather than to chide or criticize but NegaCrimson never let herself forget it every time she screwed up. She was Gosalyn Mallard, just like this universe's Crimson. It shouldn't be so hard to fill the shoes of another just like her.

But it was. She could do headstrong and even heroic, but she just couldn't match that… _spirit…_ that rallied her Posiverse duplicate day after day. Too much trouble in her past. Too much doubt about her future.

She wasn't the heroine this city deserved. But she had to honor her double by trying. And that meant being there, improving as best she could, and keeping her people safe until the true Crimson Avenger returned, no matter what came her way…

"Nice moves, mate."

 _That_ was a voice that hadn't been there a moment ago!

She jumped back and took aim with her gas gun, then realized a second too late that as she was on the edge of the roof there was nowhere to "jump back" to…

Meanwhile, on the other end of the roof Rowe watched, chuckling, as NegaCrimson fell out of sight with an uncharacteristic yelp.

She swung back up to the ledge a moment later, practically spitting with rage. He just chuckled some more.

"What the _hell_ are you up to!" She bellowed, gas gun in hand and aimed for someplace delicate.

"You hero types." He chortled. He always had believed that humor could protect against a beating. She didn't agree. "So kick-butt in normal circumstances, yet always so clumsy everywhere else."

In response she marched forward until they were eye to eye, and aimed the gun point blank against his chest.

"You wanna say that again, Rowe?"

He smiled, ever so nervously. She tried not to smirk - so much for his theory. "… nah, not particularly mate." He said, clearly hoping there weren't rubber bullets in the barrel right now.

"Then what _do_ you want?" She demanded. "This had better not be an ambush."

"Please," he said – this time with a genuine laugh. "If we were trying to ambush you, do you think _I_ would be taking point?"

This – amusingly - was as good as admitting that he was physically the weak link on his team, but she chose not to push the topic. "Then why are you sneaking around, pray tell?"

He shrugged. "Technically I didn't sneak anywhere." Her eyes narrowed, but he just smirked. "True story, mate! I spotted you up here, and sped up to say hello just as you flew off to take care of those punks. So I waited. You just didn't check the roof when you got back."

NegaCrimson used her free hand to give herself a facepalm – she deserved it. "And I assume you just happened to be in the neighborhood?"

"Well, no. I _was_ looking for you, if I'm being honest."

Her grip tightened on the trigger. Rowe seemed to realize he was treading on thinner ice. "Then I'll ask again," she hissed. "What. Do. You. _Want?"_

There was a time for banter and a time to drop it, and NegaGosalyn had to give _some_ members of the Five credit – just Bushroot and Rowe, mostly – they did know the difference. "Easy," Rowe replied. "I need help."

She took the moment to turn his laugh back on him. "You can't be serious."

"Come on, mate." He groaned. "You know I wouldn't joke around about this. I've got a right-on disappearance on my hands, I do."

"A disappearance." She stared skeptically at him. "And for once, you're not behind it."

"Hey!" He gasped, insulted. "That's not our thing and you know it. Well…" He paused. That needed a bit of reconsidering. "It's not _my_ thing, anyway. _You've_ kidnapped more people than I have."

She flinched. He had her there.

He, too, chose not to press the topic. She was almost grateful.

"And if, by some miracle, I believe you…" She droned, full of defensive sarcasm. "Why come to me, Rowe? Why not go to the rest of your little club? Or even Darkwing, if you're so desperate."

"Because if feels… wrong." He looked away, seeming a bit conflicted. If this was an act, he was actually doing a good job. Better than usual, at least. "I dunno. If it was a situation I thought we could take advantage of, I'd bring in the Five. And I wouldn't go to Darkwing unless I was absolutely sure it was something awful, or my rep would be shot." He looked back at her, smiling in a way she supposed was companionable. "But you… well, you know us. You've got perspective."

"Translation: the missing person is one of the Five." She said pointedly. Rowe winced. "You don't know whether they disappeared because they're up to something on their own – which is none of your business – or whether they're legitimately in trouble, which _is._ " She lowered the gas gun, but only a few degrees. He'd still be taking a hit somewhere very uncomfortable if he tried anything. "So you came to me, because I used to work with you knobs and you're hoping I'll do you a favor."

Rowe blinked. "You're… ah… taking to the whole detective thing pretty well, it looks like."

"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere." She answered automatically. She eyed him, a shrewd look passing over her eyes. "Since I suppose this has _nothing_ to do with how I happen to look like someone you've been drooling over for years."

"It's not like that," he said even _more_ automatically, but the red tint that was visible even through his fur betrayed him.

"Don't play around with me." She snarled. "Don't think I've forgotten the way you tried to get close with Cri… with _her_ even though she's pure evil right now."

"Give me a break, mate!" Rowe pleaded. "I didn't know _how_ evil she was at the time."

"I've also done a bit of digging. And I managed to hear a few tidbits about a certain otter…" The gun when straight back up to face level. "… a supposed time loop. And a **kiss!"**

She fired, and the gun's tiny projectile went flying _just_ past Rowe's earlobe. She _had_ loaded it with rubber bullets, much to his misfortune.

Rowe looked like his entire body was fighting the urge to combust. "That _literally_ never happened." His voice came out all squeaky, which didn't help his case even if his response hadn't been vague as fog.

She regarded him for a second. She could easily just shoot him and leave him to writhe on this rooftop. Part of her, the part that thought being the valiant Empress of the Negaverse was too much hassle and being a worthwhile Crimson Avenger was impossible, didn't see that as such a bad idea.

But the other part, the one that wanted to be the best Gosalyn Mallard she could be, had other ideas…

"Who's missing?" She sighed. She was going to regret this, she just knew.

Rowe must have figured the next sound she made would be a gunshot, because he instinctively yelped and flinched away before realizing what she said. It was a good day for surprises all around.

"R-really?" He said, his voice still squeaky. He cleared his throat and tried again, a bit more confidently. "I mean, of course, mate. Quackerjack's gone missing-"

"- _Quackerjack?"_ She snapped. So much for taking any of this seriously. "You're wasting my time over Quackerjack? What, didn't have time to check all the toy stores in town for sugar high manchildren?"

"By the fur, give me some credit!" He huffed. "I thought about that too. But another of us, the new gal – Extra – she's missing too. She was with him. It's like they vanished right in the middle of their… er… morning constitutional."

She rolled her eyes. Rowe's obvious reluctance to incriminate his comrades aside, that did spark her suspicion. If they had disappeared in the middle of a _heist_ … or whatever Quackerjack was up to, she never liked to pry with him… that would explain Rowe's reaction. The average supervillain did not just up and give up their nefarious plans halfway through for no reason. Especially not a supervillain as obsessed and barmy as the mad toymaker.

There was nothing for it, then. She lowered the gun – all the way, this time. "…show me."

Rowe's face lit up like a overcooked casserole. "No doubt, mate!" He bobbed on his feet, with more excitement than she felt was really warranted. "NegaCrimson and the Fearsome Five, working together again!"

And up went the gun again. He froze. "You have to call me Crimson in public." She said sharply. "That's not negotiable. You know why."

"I… yeah… I suppose I do," he said. He wisely dropped the excited act, and instead gestured for her to follow him. "Come on, then. The sooner we get the mystery locked up, the sooner we can go back to being proper heroes and villains again."

She scoffed as she holstered the gas gun – to be used for a more intimidating moment. There was nothing "proper" about any of this. But she supposed she appreciated the sentiment, at least for now…

* * *

 _Extra-Secret SHUSH Lab #0691_

For a defunct government laboratory, Darkwing Duck had a surprisingly easy time getting to the meeting spot. Granted, if he hadn't already been told this place existed there was no way he would have ever found it, but it was overall rather nondescript. Just a random basement hall in an obscure office in the old part of the city.

That was probably the point. SHUSH HQ may have been an extremely visible place, but you didn't build a spy network being obvious. This particular SHUSH base may have been long defunct – the decor looked like something out of the 60's - but it was doing its job well if nobody had bothered to check to see if there was anything beneath the surface after all this time.

But then, that just reinforced the question: what was Darkwing even doing here, if even this place was so unassuming that not even SHUSH wanted anything to do with it any more? The answers would be coming soon, but this whole thing still made him feel on edge.

The basement filtered into a long hallway, at the end of which was the end to this cloak and dagger nonsense.

The person who answered the door greeted him with far less enthusiasm than Darkwing himself felt. "Darkwing! You made it!"

"Yes, Techno, I did." Darkwing moved to step inside, but to his surprise the young hero blocked his way. Suspicious and annoying, but Darkwing allowed the momentary stall for now. "So what's going on here that we can't talk about it at the Tower? Why all the skulduggery?"

Techno sighed. "Right." He glanced behind him and stepped closer, apparently so whoever else was inside wouldn't hear. He actually looked nervous, at that – Darkwing hadn't seen Techno this uneasy around him since he was a kid. "I won't beat around the bush, sir. Just… remember what I said about working outside the box?"

He did remember. That confirmed the obvious answer about all this: it was about Gosalyn. Whatever Techno was up to, it was about curing her. But then, what wasn't these days?

So, his answer was to the point. "What about it?"

"Just that you might want to keep an open mind about what you see in here, that's all." And with that indirect answer, Techno turned "And of course, top se..."

To his surprise, he was stopped. Darkwing put his hand on his shoulder, gently keeping Techno from going further inside.

"…cret," he trailed off, bemused. "What's going on? Do you have any questions?"

"No. I just figured you must have had company inside, since you've stopped me at the door." Darkwing replied. Techno winced, vaguely, but didn't dispute the deduction. "So before we go in, I have something to tell you."

Techno's eyes widened. Deductions like that went both ways: there only one topic Darkwing would find so urgent to tell him right in the middle of this, but too discreet to say in front of others. "… something about her."

"Yes." Darkwing sighed. "The school Gosalyn was going to go to, St. Canard College, sent us a letter today. About what she… about what the _Crimson Marauder_ did last month."

Neither of them needed much reminder. It had seemed so long ago, the Crimson Marauder's first real attack on the city - just her, without NegaHonker or pirates or any additional help – but it was hard to forget. She had cut a swath of fear and destruction, including setting the college campus ablaze. It had not been fun to deal with, and it was horrible to have to do so again now.

Darkwing immediately caught the concern in Techno's eyes: the young sidekick gasped and stepped closer, whispering furiously. "You mean they kn-"

"No." Darkwing said quickly, cutting off that line before it could start. "But… it's bad. She did a lot of damage. A _lot_ of damage. They've… had to cut back."

Techno got the implications quick as ever. "… you said Gosalyn _**was**_ going to go there," he whispered, unwilling to voice what he had already figured out.

Darkwing nodded. His next words were clipped and stilted: he, more than even Techno, didn't want to make what he was about to say real. "T-they've had to cancel the enrollment of several students. Including Gosalyn. She… she has nowhere to go, now."

He could hear the fabric in Techno's gloves stretch through clenched fists. "So… she got what she wanted after all."

"Gosalyn Mallard has always been the Crimson Marauder's first and most personal target." Darkwing replied, rigidly keeping the distance between his daughter and her vile alter ego. "I have no idea if she knows, but I'm not going to be in any rush to tell her if she doesn't. The way she…"

He choked, just a bit. His stilted tone began to fall apart. "… she _delights_ in destroying her own life…"

He looked away, and Techno saw for the first time it a long while a Darkwing Duck that looked… lost. He hated seeing that. It was alien, almost exactly like seeing Gosalyn give up. It made everything feel twice as hopeless.

But luckily, for once he had the means of reigniting that inspiration himself. At least, he hoped so.

"So we save her," he said adamantly, grabbing Darkwing by the shoulders. Darkwing turned back to him, surprised at his confidence. It wasn't long ago that Techno was grasping at straws. "And luckily, I know how!"

He gestured for Darkwing to follow him inside.

Darkwing didn't know what to expect when he followed. SHUSH agents, maybe. A stuffy administrator, having been convinced to oversee this secret project after some manner of begging or bribery. Maybe even, as a flight of fancy, a squad of robot assistants: Honker Muddlefoot had never done anything like that in the time he'd known him, but given the leaps and bounds his ambition had grown since becoming Techno, Darkwing sometimes wondered if it wasn't a matter of time.

But the point is, he was imagining something… stable. Controlled. A familiar, wild eyed rat? Not so much.

"Darkwing, ol' pal!" Came the immediately identifiable, high energy voice of Elmo Sputterspark. He leaped – _literally_ leaped - across the room and yanked the confused hero into a tight embrace. Darkwing was at a loss for words.

It was a surprise to see Elmo here, to say the least. The once villain had gone through many a change since literally splitting himself off from his evil impulses: sure, the impulsive if well-intentioned move had created a galvanized monstrosity even worse than his former self, but in the meantime he'd found love, gotten his life together and evidently he had even started bathing regularly judging from the scented aroma assaulting Darkwing's nose.

It was almost impossible to look at the man he was now and see the fanatic that was Megavolt. But it was still a little shocking, even so. Especially if he were standing in front of an unstable looking electrical gizmo, as – it surmised - he currently was.

Darkwing's eyes shot up from the now-awkward hug and eyed the device warily. "… okay." He grumbled, pulling Elmo off of him. "What is that and how much trouble are you going to be in for making it?"

"Oh, _loads_ of trouble!" Elmo said cheerfully. He tapped the side of the machine like an old friend. It sparked ominously at him. Darkwing was now _immediately_ sure whatever this was wasn't a good idea.

"I repeat. What. Is. It?"

Techno nudged him. "Outside the box, remember?" Darkwing gave him an unimpressed look, but he continued on. "This isn't something easily sanctioned, but with only a couple extra minds we were able to make it work. Really, you should be excited." He finished, daring to try a pointed jab at Darkwing's mood.

But no such luck. Darkwing's was too busy zeroing in the details. "A _couple?_ As in more than one? Who else have you brought in on this, Techno?"

"What am I, chopped liver?" Elmo joked. "You know how hard it was to pull me away from my _other_ SHUSH lab and set up this one on the sly? It was really, _really_ hard. Really. I-"

"AND YET YOU STILL WON'T TELL ME WHY!"

"To think St. Canard's hero is so high strung…" came a posh voice from behind the machine. Someone had been doing adjustments while they were talking, which might have explained the spark from before.

Darkwing couldn't believe his eyes. "John D. Rockerduck!"

"Well," the cold industrialist scoffed. "At least you're not a subpar detective as well. I've had my doubts…"

Darkwing weathered the insult on his skills… for now. As much as it pained him to take a hit to the ego, numbers were starting to add up. "You're making another Tron Manipulator!" He said, this time to Techno. "Rockerduck's designs. Elmo's experience. Your expertise." He pointed from one to the other in turn, then fixed back to Rockerduck. "How's that for detective work?"

The old businessman's face - somewhere between gobsmacked and infuriated - almost gave him the urge to laugh, but decided to let his retort lie as is. He really did want to let that dig go, since they obviously had a lot more to worry about right now.

"Now," Techno said, trying to get on top of things before the inevitable storm. "Before you say anything…"

"HAVE YOU GONE COOCOO BANANAS!?" Darkwing screeched so loudly it echoed off the walls, making Elmo duck behind the machine – accidently pushing Rockerduck off his feet in the process. "Teenagers! It's always the same! You never think anything through!"

"Come on, Darkwing!" Techno's eyes narrowed. "I'm hardly the only one between the two of us who's ever done something dangerously impulsive. I'm not even the more prone to it."

Darkwing stared at him. "… now I _know_ you're going through a meltdown. That almost sounded like an insult!"

That was only partially a joke. That was a low blow, and it was quite unlike Techno to make it. Gosalyn – even before she became the Crimson Marauder – had never been shy about giving a shot to his ego whenever he did something she didn't like. Even Launchpad had the occasional smarmy word to say about his actions, usually wrapped up casually inside his friendly demeanor.

But Honker… now Techno? He could give the third degree to his best friend, but he'd _never_ done so to Darkwing before. It was stunning - flooring even! - to say the least.

Techno saw the effect he'd had and winced. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "I'm **not** having a meltdown. This is the only idea I could think of that could give us any kind of positive result in a reasonable timeframe." A paused, and Darkwing could see the emotion in his eyes – desperation and… surprisingly… hope. "And… I think this could actually work. Really, **truly** work."

"Or put us back to square one,"

"That's a risk that, at this point, I'm willing to take," Techno said firmly, but only for a second before his shoulders sank in a sigh. "I know that sounds… bad. But it's either this, or nothing. And nothing isn't working. _We have to try._ "

His words hit Darkwing right in his cynical center, and he took a mental step back. Irresponsible as it was, Techno was right. Tron Manipulation had started this. It _would_ finish it, if they did it right. Just because SHUSH had a point for not getting involved, didn't mean they have to give up on it.

But it did mean they would have to face the consequences, should things go wrong.

"I suppose we do," Darkwing said. "But if anyone else, I'm the one who commissioned this."

Techno's eyes widened, as he realized right away what that meant. "But you can't-"

"I can and I will," he replied curtly, cutting off any further objection. "Depending on how this goes, SHUSH would have your head for this. I don't want both of the kids I've seen grow before my eyes losing their futures."

The teenage hero truly faltered for the first time since Darkwing got there, completely taken aback by the uncommonly earnest words. "I… thanks, Darkwing, but I can't let you take the fall for something I did."

"You will, or I'm shutting this down right now," Darkwing barked. "Take it or leave it."

It took a minute, but Techno chose to take it… by way of enveloping in Darkwing in a similarly uncommon but very necessary hug.

"T-thank you…" Techno whispered into Darkwing's shoulder, and all the stress from the last couple months rolled away. "We'll get her back this time. I swear."

This wasn't not the kind of thing the curmudgeonly hero would have liked to do in front of a former enemy and an unscrupulous business magnate, but it too had to be done, so Darkwing returned the embrace. "I know you will, kid. I know you will."

Techno thankfully – where Darkwing was concerned - pulled away quickly, and was immediately back to business. "I suppose I should tell you more about the design."

"Yeah, I suppose you should," Darkwing scoffed. "Just because I'm in doesn't mean I think any of this is a good idea."

Techno just grinned. "When has that ever stopped us?"

"Point."

The machine began sparking again as it whirred to life. Now that he was sure the arguing part was over, Elmo slid out from behind the machine and went back to checking gauges and readouts. Rockerduck, who had been watching the argument with vague interest, was now engrossed in a large blueprint.

"Still…" Darkwing continued, though with a lot less dismissal than before. He looked over the device curiously, trying to parse out its place in the future. "I'm not sure I like having another Tron Manipulator out there."

"Technically, it's not strictly a Tron Manipulator," Techno explained. "Admittedly, it…" He paused awkwardly, as the thought passed. "… can be used as one, if you give it some fine tuning…"

"Techno…" Darkwing groaned.

" _But…"_ the young genius quickly doubled back. "It's far less effective at that job than a fully conceived Tron Manipulator would be. This design is actually meant to be at stronger affect against trons that have already been altered, forcing them to collapse in on themselves and invert moral polarity. We're hoping to use it to reverse… well… everything."

Darkwing considered this for a moment. "Sounds… surprisingly possible. But if that's the case, I'm not sure _he_ should be so close to that thing." He pointed at Elmo, who was dutifully giving the machine a full-chassis wax.

"Oh, it shouldn't effect _me._ " Elmo said, newly cheerful again. "It's a gorgeous perk of the design, really. I'm more of a halved whole, tron-wise, so there's nothing to 'revert.' It's like being a lone electron without a proton – and I'm loving it, mind you!" He laughed to himself, then paused. "Granted, there's a nonzero chance that direct exposure _could_ make me explode instead, but it's not like I'm planning to blast myself in the face."

"… well, _I'm_ convinced."

Techno sighed wearily. "Darkwing…"

Ignoring his comrade's response, Darkwing redirected his accusing finger towards Rockerduck. "And what about him? We already had to shut this greedy tycoon down from _exactly this kind of thing_ once, and it cost us. Do we really want to do it again?"

Some kind of indignant response would have been typical after a shot like that, but Rockerduck, to Darkwing's surprise, merely waved it off with a haughty scoff. "Please! What do you take me for?" He said with high-class indifference. "After all the mayhem that has been wreaked the wake of my experiment, I've all but packed up that line of research. I was on the cusp of incinerating all our data on the project when Techno came to ask for my aid."

"And what exactly did Techno tell you, hmm?" Darkwing replied suspiciously, shooting a warning glance at Techno who – again to Darkwing's surprise – shrugged back without a hint of sheepishness.

Rockerduck either missed or didn't care about the nonverbal exchange, probably the latter. "Nothing that wasn't easy to figure out, when you have all the clues. A daring incident happens involving my Tron Manipulator experiment, which is then stolen, and afterwards practically overnight an evil version of the Crimson Avenger arises? You might not believe me, but I'm actually quite contrite about it – all things considered."

Darkwing's beak curled with a sudden rise of anger. This was a sensitive topic, to say the last. "Yes. Quite." He said, forcing himself not to react further. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on Elmo again.

"Speaking of contrite, _you're working for SHUSH!_ " He said sharply, causing Elmo to jump at the sudden attention. "There's no way they authorized this. What are they going to do when they find out what you've been up to?"

"Psh. They're not going to find out," Elmo grinned. "I may not be crazy and evil any more, but I do remember pulling the wool over a few eyes back in my villain days. I just did a little of that."

Darkwing decided not to point out that Megavolt had perhaps been the least subtle villain in a city already chock full of incredibly unsubtle whackjobs – even Quackerjack could keep a plan under wraps without blacking out half the neighborhood. Reformed or not, Elmo's attempts at covering up his tracks would probably need a little review as far as Darkwing was concerned, and he hoped Techno thought to do so.

Thinking about it himself was just giving him an ulcer at this point. Really, all of this was bad for his health.

"If it's not my kid, it's the kid my kid brings home…" he muttered under his breath. It was as true and frustrating now as when those children actually _were_ children, and a painful thing to think about besides. But just like then, there was something about those kids - about Gosalyn and Honker, and their at times miraculous antics – that just made him want to throw good judgment to the wind and _trust._

So, begrudgingly, trust he would. A good hero, after all, follows his gut just as much as his head.

Techno had only barely heard Darkwing's mutterings, and definitely didn't pick up on what he was thinking. He was determined about this, probably enough to go behind Darkwing's back without a hint of regret if the older hero put his foot down. But the way the teen's visored face lit up when Darkwing gave him a slow, unsteady thumbs up made him look not like a harried genius on his last desparate move but almost like that kid again.

At the very least, it really was a hopeful sight.

"Okay, Techno. You got me." Darkwing said, feigning a frustration even he was starting to lose his hold of now. "Tell me what you need me to do."

Techno nodded. At once, he pulled the three others together in huddle. "We need to plan," he said. "And plan hard. We can build the thing, no prob. We can even make it smaller. But what we need is to be able to _use it…"_

* * *

 _Inside MacCawber Manor,_

From comfortable mid-city apartment, to creepy suburban horror show. That, it seemed, was Christine Merriweather's life right now.

It wasn't as if she was ungrateful. Far from it. Ingratitude towards Morgana Macawber after everything the woman had been through was the last thing on Christine's mind – especially when Morgana had opened up her home to them in spite of all that hardship. But the overwhelming weight of everything was bearing down on Christine as well - worse than ever now that she had time to breathe.

Charlie was over the moon, meanwhile. He didn't have to worry about these things, being a kid. He could blissfully run here and there without thinking about home invasions and close friends gone mad, or whether or not some tentacled beast was going to leap out a mirror or under the stairs and sucker his face clean off.

Admittedly, Christine was pretty sure that Morgana's tentacled beasts were tamer than that, but still…

She _had_ to think about such things. More than she had ever allowed herself to before, but maybe less than she should have since getting involved Drake Mallard. Maybe it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.

She loved him dearly, but the thoughts wouldn't stop now that they had popped into her head. Was it worth it, being in love with a superhero? She hated that she was even thinking about it, but…

She took to wandering the manor to clear her mind. Charlie had one thing right: Macawber Manor was a fascinating place… once one put the fear of boogeymen out their mind. She'd had the morning paper brought to her by dogs without skin, and evening dinner served on floating dishes. Drake's wistful complaints really didn't do Morgana's cooking justice: the ingredients were a little strange, but the end result was fantastic. It was no wonder the woman's restaurants were the talk of Calisota.

The woman herself was a delight. Melancholy, perhaps – in a way that once might have been affected, but now seemed to settle in her every thought – but kind and wonderful to talk to… even if some subjects were a little awkward between them.

One such subject, however, they never could seem to resist.

"And then there he was, a yak with silly purple mask! My, I was so embarrassed."

They were sitting in the drawing room, as Morgana regaled Christine with some lesser shared stories of Darkwing's heroics… which is to say, the greatest hits of the caped canard's least dignified moments. "Oh, my gosh!" Christine laughed at just the thought of it, "Drake definitely failed to mention _that_ little adventure!"

"Oh, he wouldn't. I know Dark. He's always been such a show-off," Morgana said, with the fond, honest remembrance that comes with time.

Christine smiled, with a similar feeling. She didn't need to reminisce to know that. "Well, I hope you got that spell working right in the end."

"Oh, we did. It was quite the battle," Morgana said. "We grew into a better team over time. Time… _does_ have a way of changing things…"

She trailed off and looked into the distance. Though it seemed like a wistful thing to say, her expression was more thoughtful than anything. It seemed Christine wasn't the only one with a lot on her mind these days.

But Christine hardly knew what to say. These fun little chats were one thing, but having a deep conversation with the woman who was once the love of her boyfriend's life?

"Er…" She started, stumbling out the gate. But she was saved a few minutes to figure out what her actual words would be by a small blur rushing into the room – the kind of a blur a parent always knew.

"Mom! Mom!" Charlie squealed. He was hopping up and down so fast Christine could hardly get a hold on him. "This place is so cool! Can I go exploring a little more?"

"Er…" Christine said again, looking over to Morgana for help. But Morgana seemed less wary about this than she was.

"It is a fantastic old place, isn't it?" She said, smirking. "Explore to your heart's content. Just avoid the _**clearly marked**_ door to the Catacombs!" Her tone went harsh, but the smile never left her face. "There are protective curses down there that could cause a wayward traveller to be lost forever."

Christine's eyes narrowed. "Wait, wha-"

But Charlie had already been set off. "So cool!" He shouted, and before Christine could interject he was already halfway out the door.

She turned to Morgana, her jaw ajar. "Could he really get lost down there?"

But Morgana – not for the first time since they moved in - waved off the concern. "Not to worry. If he does delve too deep I can always get him out right away. It's a rite of passage for young ones to get lost in the catacombs. I know I did many times when I was young. I believe Gosalyn did too. More than I did, come to think of it."

Christine wasn't convinced that Morgana's idea of what was or wasn't dangerous to a child was entirely trustworthy (or Gosalyn's, for that matter), but she accepted that Morgana would at least not let Charlie come to harm and – reluctantly – let it go.

The room fell silent after that. Morgana fell back into thought, and Christine fell back into not knowing what to say. She was starting to ponder going after Charlie, when the pale duck finally spoke.

"She's grown into such a wonderful young woman," Morgana said. She glanced sidelong at Christine's confused look. "Gosalyn, I mean. She was so close to us over the years – Bob and I – but in recent times I feel as though I've let that slip away. If I'd only trained her skills more diligently, then perhaps…"

Christine didn't know much about magic, but she had heard much from Drake about Gosalyn's potential with it – as well as Gosalyn's only occasional interest. The thought of that combining with the current situation made her shudder. "Perhaps we would have an insane pirate _sorceress_ to deal with."

There was a pause, and Christine was briefly concerned that Morgana would be offended, but then the other woman laughed. "Yes, but insane sorceresses is something of an area of expertise of mine," she joked, if only briefly. Her somber mood quickly returned. "But I do often find myself thinking of what might have been. That perhaps…"

She winced, glancing apologetically at Christine for beginning something she felt she would regret. But as a doctor, Christine knew when you had to apply a salve.

"Say it." She said warmly. "It'll make you feel better."

Morgana frowned. She still looked guilty, but she didn't stop. "It's just, sometimes I think that perhaps had I stayed with Dark, I could have been able to prevent this. All of this. That had I waited for him, instead of getting involved with another… then perhaps Bob would still be alive today. And I wouldn't be here, alone, with nothing but memories to know him by."

Christine chose not to be offended. It was obvious where the real feelings were here. "You can't blame yourself. Not when you can blame Negaduck."

"Neutraduck," Morgana corrected automatically. "It was Neutraduck."

Christine smiled, in a way meant for maximum comfort. "See? You know where the blame lies! And you know Bob died defending us all from him."

"Oh, I do blame him. I blame him, _and_ Negaduck and... every evil pig that put us in that position, who _keep_ putting us in these positions!" Morgana said darkly. There was suddenly an unnerving echo in the room that made Christine shiver, though she knew the rage behind it was directed nowhere near her. Drake and Gosalyn had jokingly mentioned Morgana's temper before – just being on the fringes of it was an experience.

But then Morgana sighed, and the echo faded. "But all this thinking back… would tragedy have struck like that if it were me and Dark? Could I have defended him, and him me, better than we do now? We did make such a smart team..."

But then she snorted derisively at her own daydream. "What an awful thought, that I'd do anything – even choose another – just to have him back here, alive. Especially when it's just as likely someone else would have lost their life instead."

And there came the downside to this conversation. Christine didn't fault Morgana her feelings, but a topic like this just enflamed her own. She had tried not to think about it before, but while she was here – surrounded by all this magic and power – it wasn't hard to ponder just how little she could do to help Drake in his fight against evil in comparison. Patching the Mallard family up after a bad break was one thing, but Morgana was reminiscing about a life with Darkwing that Christine would never fully understand. And that ached, deep down.

Gosalyn was not herself - she would never have even thought such things about her if she were - but being called a "poor man's Morgana" when they last met had still stung. Christine would never be a "smart team" with Darkwing Duck. She wasn't going to be joining him while punching out supervillains any time soon. Nor did she want to, but... it couldn't help but make her feel like second best, sometimes.

Morgana seemed to read Christine's emotions off of her face, because she quickly backtracked. "No, I… I shouldn't be burdening you with this. I'm sorry. These are my problems to sort out. But… thank you for listening."

"Grieving is a process," Christine said, waving off her own insecurity as a topic for another day. "And you've done more than enough for me to be here with you for it. And I know Drake is here for you too."

The two smiled at each other, and before the silence got awkward again Christine – feeling a mite more comfortable now (even if her chair felt a bit like it was chewing on her) - kept the ball rolling with another suggestion.

"So, have you got any more stories about Darkwing Duck's brilliant heroics?"

Happy to take the invitation, Morgana snickered. "Tons. I'm sure _none_ of them, not even Gosalyn, told you about the time with the love potion…"

* * *

 _Outside The Headquarters of Whiffle Boy Entertainment,_

When Rowe and NegaCrimson arrived, the police had already come and gone from the scene and – declaring it an act of minor vandalism – left if for cleaning crews to handle. Said cleaning crews were nowhere to be seen, which may have had something to do with the reports about roots breaking through "aging" roads several blocks down. Either way, the area would be clear for quite a few hours yet.

Bushroot had already been there for some time, tracing a path back and forth. When they dropped in he turned sharply, but relaxed once he saw who they were – though his stare did linger on his cohort's heroic companion.

"You brought _her?"_ He said, more keyed onto NegaCrimson herself than Rowe having brought anyone in the first place. "Of _course_ you brought her. I feel like I should be more surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean, mate?"

Bushroot rolled his eyes. To Bushroot's mild surprise, so did NegaCrimson. "Like we don't all know." She pushed past Rowe and strode into the midst of the chaos. "So what's the situation here."

That was difficult to explain. Easy to see, but difficult to explain. The courtyard of Whiffle Boy Entertainment was usually modern and immaculate, showing off their chops as a cutting edge video game company, but now it was a mess: there was tar and fake feathers everywhere, mostly slathering the grand statue of Whiffle Boy they kept front and center in the plaza.

But at the same time, it was _limited_ to there. It was no wonder the police suspected vandalism, rather than a supervillain attack: there was nothing more. No broken entryways, not lingering deathtraps or mechanical menaces, no sign anything more dangerous than a bunch of creatively mischievous kids had been here.

Bushroot opened his mouth to explain, then thought better of it. He turned to Rowe, and gave him a pointed look. Rowe responded with an assuring nod.

"Go ahead, mate," he said. "Don't forget, she was one of us."

" **Was.** " Bushroot clarified. "She flies under a different banner these days, not that I blame her."

"I'm not going to bring you in," NegaCrimson said loudly. The two jumped, realizing that they had been talking about her as if she weren't there. "At least, depending on what we find. Like Rowe said, if this really is trouble I'm willing to help you jokers out just this once, for old time's sake. Take it, because it's a limited offer."

"That's surprisingly sociable of you," Bushroot said, with one leafy eyebrow raised.

NegaCrimson just shrugged and turned back to the chaos, so Bushroot supposed that was the best he was ever going to get. And the authorities wouldn't remain distracted forever…

He sighed. "Very well, then. Quackerjack was cooking up another 'revenge' against Whiffle Boy Entertainment," he gestured to the giant statue in front of them. "I don't know if you remember, but he hates all video games and this company in particular with a passion."

NegaCrimson did remember, even if she thought it was ridiculous. In the Negaverse, Whiffle Boy Inc was not an entertainment company, but a independent conglomerate that provided robotic mercenaries and virtual training for assassins. Negaduck was an enthusiastic consumer of their services: she suspected that their tech was involved in her initial brainwashing, for example.

And NegaQuackerjack hated them more than anyone: he used to smuggle aid to freedom fighters, hidden in toys and games. WBI had their Whiffle Enforcers burn everything he had to the ground. It was a _very_ tragic story.

This Quackerjack's reason for hating them was a lot more petty, but she understood it well enough. So she nodded and gestured for Bushroot to continue.

"It's against our charter for the group to be pulled into personal revenge schemes: it's just not wise." "So we let him plot this out himself with minimal input… or supervision."

"Wait, you guys really do have a charter? Seriously?"

Rowe groaned. "Why is everyone so surprised about that?"

" **Anyway,"** Bushroot cut them off, "that means that all we knew is their radios were working one second, then blanked out the next. When we came to investigate, this is all we found. That and silence." Even if she hadn't worked with the group once upon a time, NegaCrimson would have known the problem there. "Quackerjack is lots of things, but never silent. Something's wrong."

She nodded. "Agreed. Give me a moment…" She stepped away from her impromptu partners and took a look over the scene, trying to remove distractions and not to think about how strange this felt, being among them again.

There was a mix of guilt and pitilessness, awkwardness and familiarity there that made just standing with the Fearsome Five without a fight feel like an uncomfortable ordeal – on both sides, though less so in the still unrepentant criminals' case. For NegaCrimson, it must have felt a lot worse – especially as the wistful feeling for her own versions of them, the ones she had left back home _still_ without any contact, did not make her feel better.

So instead she focused on the job. She probably wouldn't be winning any rewards as the Posiverse's greatest detective, not without honing her skills a lot more, but she was trying. As wild as she could be, her double was better at it than she was, though that was understandable: PosiCrimson had been fighting crime rather than causing it for a lot longer, even as Gosalyn Mallard. NegaCrimson was the only one for this job sometimes in the Negaverse, so she had to pick up a few things… and redirect a few skills from her less than reputable days.

Skills like knowing what an abduction looked like.

"Did you notice this?" She said sharply, gesturing the two criminals her side. "Tracks."

She pointed to two sets of footprints amidst the disarray. One set was oversized and all over the place, the other was small and careful.

The villains followed her eye, but seemed to have seen it before. Rowe shrugged, though Bushroot – NegaCrimson was happy to see – looked more thoughtful. "I mean, yeah mate. They must've traipsed all over the place while making this mess."

" _They_ did." She elaborated, emphasizing the "they" to let the others know she picked up on it. "Don't bother trying to cover up the crimes here. I already know that the other one was Plumis, remember? I also don't care." She turned away from their awkward faces and back to the ground. "What I do care about is that their tracks end. Right here. "

The two gave a second look, and realized she was right. The footprints did end abruptly, without reaching anything or leaving the tarred area.

"So?" Rowe asked flippantly. "Maybe he just used one of his rocket pogos or something. Could've been this all was a distraction so he could get in the roof."

Bushroot shook his head before NegaCrimson could. "It's possible, but that _definitely_ would've left an indent, and I don't see one."

"Not to mention it wouldn't explain what happened to the other set of tracks" NegaCrimson said pointedly. The other two flinched, having both missed that obvious detail.

Bushroot paused, considering the options. "The roof is a good idea, though. Maybe we should check." He turned to NegaCrimson. "Agreed?"

There weren't any other leads, so NegaCrimson let her raised grappling hook do the talking. Rowe, feeling slightly mollified that at least _half_ of his idea was being accepted,, decided to jump on the opportunity. He stepped up to her, offering his hand.

"Well, I guess I'm gonna need a ride, aren't I mate?" He said, with a cheeky grin. "No way up, you see."

NegaCrimson took a look at his hand, then a look at his face, then grappled up without a word… or one gobsmacked otter.

Bushroot decided to do his dejected cohort a solid and lend him a few creeping vines. "Please don't tell me you expected anything different," he said as they whisked up the corporate skyscraper, unable to keep the humor out of his voice even for Rowe's sake.

"Oi, just shut it mate…"

They arrived to find that the roof was not a particularly lively place. The villains arrived a minute or so after NegaCrimson, and she was already canvassing the place as they pulled up over the rooftop.

Just from a quick look, it didn't seem worth the effort. There were no breaks in the skylights or conspicuously ajar doors, no booby trap jack-in-the-boxes let in wait for heroes that might wander through, no giant toys running amok in a hilariously perilous fashion. By all appearances, it was just a roof.

"Guess that's it for my bright ideas, then." Rowe said, kicking a nearby pebble to vent his frustration. It went flying off the roof and bounced off a passing TeleConstructor. "It's all empty!"

"I wouldn't say that." NegaCrimson said. She walked over to what otherwise looked like a random spot, and knelt down. "Look."

She gestured to the ground before her. There were flecks of tar there – out of place but small, and easily missed. A trace feather or two slowly swept along in the evening wind.

"Okay," Rowe corrected himself. "So not _totally_ empty."

Bushroot rushed to the spot for a closer look, then jumped to another area not far away, and then another. "There's more tar over here! And here!" He said intently. "But they're not prints or smudges. It's more like… droplets."

"As if they fell from above, yeah," NegaCrimson said. "I noticed that too."

"So someone airlifted them out of here," Rowe concluded. "So who do we know that could've done that?"

NegaCrimson frowned, in thought. "Not many that we can't immediately rule out. None of Darkwing's group did it, obviously."

"I guess Splatter Phoenix could've if she really wanted to," Bushroot added. "But I don't see her wanting to. Plus, she would've left a paint trail."

"I thought maybe Armstrong," Rowe said. "But last I saw he's still back at base. 'Sides, it doesn't make sense, him starting a feud with Quackerjack all of a sudden."

Bushroot looked up sharply, and caught Rowe's eye. Both were replaying everything they knew about their tenuous situation in their heads, wondering if it were possible. "…don't forget it just yet", he said, finally. "It's still a possibility. If Glomgold's finally making his play to brush away loose ends, we'll need to be ready."

NegaCrimson raised an eyebrow, having been watching their alarm with interest. "Trouble in Tartarus?"

Bushroot turned away, having momentarily forgotten their third wasn't one of them any more, but rather than get evasive Rowe just laughed. "You have no idea, mate." Bushroot punched him in the arm. "Ow! Hey!"

"Is there _anyone else_ we haven't considered?" Bushroot said pointedly, trying to direct the conversation away from handing internal secrets to someone who was (technically) their enemy.

He might not have needed to worry. NegaCrimson was distracted, eyeing something in the distance. Bushroot and Rowe, again unaware that she had broken off from them, continued throwing to throw ideas back and forth.

"Not unless that crazy sheila with the wind powers is back," Rowe replied.

"Unlikely," Bushroot said. "Last I checked, the Elements had vanished entirely. But I guess it could be someone with the same-"

"Hey, what's going on there?"

Bushroot and Rowe stopped their brainstorming and looked to where NegaGosalyn was pointing. Behind them, the TeleConstructor that Rowe had nailed with the pebble was still hovering around. It dipped back and forth, as if jerking in multiple directions at once, and nearly crashed into the building in the process.

"You guys would know this city better than I would," NegaCrimson continued. "Are those supposed to be flying around alone?"

The other two shared a surprised look. "Isn't that one of those construction things, mate?" Rowe said. "The ones we stole from Scrooge?"

"The TeleConstructors, yes. And that one's _definitely_ acting erratically." Bushroot confirmed, now feeling very suspicious. NegaCrimson was right: in their short tenure here in St. Canard, the citizens had gotten used to scores of TeleConstructors zipping around the skyline _in groups_. Seeing one by its lonesome, far away from any construction sites, was a definite red flag.

Rowe too followed the troubling track. "By the fur! You think one of _those_ is responsible for-"

In lieu of continued speculation, NegaCrimson again interrupted the conversation by springing into action – with a sprinting start, she launched herself off the edge of the roof and sprang towards the TeleConstructor, grappling hook at the ready. She scored a connection to its metal base and hanged there, holding on with no problem as the machine veered against her weight.

Bushroot and Rowe stared. There wasn't much else they could do about it.

"Always on the move, that one," Bushroot said flatly. "Or is that _every_ version of her?" He turned to Rowe for a little banter, but the otter was already on the move as well.

"Well, I'm not getting left behind this time, mate!" He said – realizing that there was _one_ thing he could do. With a flying leap, he sprung off the edge of the roof and grabbed onto NegaCrimson's leg. "Banzai!"

This did almost make NegaCrimson lose her handhold – but only almost. She slipped her grip for a split second, but preferred to spend the next few seconds glaring down at her unexpected addition than panicking over a few lost millimeters.

"You crazy knob!" She shrieked. "What do you think you're doing?!"

He laughed as he held on for dear life – there _were,_ after all, quite a ways up. "Just joinin' in the fun, mate!"

NegaCrimson was about to respond with something biting, maybe even try to throw Rowe back onto the roof, when suddenly the TeleConstructor – likely reacting badly to such a sudden strain – finally found a direction it liked and took off. First upward, then outward, it quickly sped away from the roof.

"Here we go!" Rowe laughed daringly from her perch on her leg – and if NegaCrimson hadn't been fighting the urge to kick him, she might have been impressed…

… meanwhile, Bushroot was left behind, with no heading of his own and nothing in particular to do but watch the two of them disappear into the horizon.

With a roll of his eyes, he turned back to his way out: which is to say, back to the sheer drop over the edge. A creeping vine would get him down as simply as it brought him up, but there was no way he could follow them across the city like that.

"Typical." He said with an ironic laugh. "I guess I'll just have to find something else to take care of, then?"

* * *

 _Floating Elsewhere, Outside St. Canard,_

"Today's the day."

"Uh huh…"

"I'm finally going to do it!"

"Si, we believe you."

" _I mean it!"_

Louie Duck – for once since the day he took up his rather strange new pastime _not_ dressed as the flamboyant Masked Mallard – paced around the deck of the ship he had shared with Kit and Panchito the past months. The two watched him fidget on his feet, deeply amused – something that left him far less amused.

"No more stalling! No more self-doubt! I'm going to push past all that!" He declared, more dramatically in his head than in reality. "I'll march right into that building, with its excessive corporate intrigue, and I'm going to _talk to my brothers!"_

"Now there's a dangerous undertaking," Panchito chuckled, a once energetic laugh that was a little strained as of recent events.

Louie's determined face dropped into a pout. "It's hard for _me!_ " Louie groaned. "Can't you be supportive?"

"I would," Panchito said with a pointed yawn. "Except Kit and I had been dropping hints and mixing messages and outright telling you to your face to do this for…" He looked away, making a show of thinking. "Weeks now, I think. Weeks for him, probably longer for me."

"Yes, yes. I'm a big fat coward who can fight pirates but gets scared of a little family awkwardness." Louie sighed. "But not after today!" Somehow he managed to get himself to stop shaking. He marched to the end of the bow and stared – resolute – into the skyline of St. Canard.

"It's just that, after losing Kit..." He sniffed, trying to be too quiet to hear - but a good uncle, even an honorary one, never misses such things. "This is what he wanted me to do. And it's the right thing. So I have to try."

The sea air suddenly seemed to get a lot heavier. A somber feeling descended upon the boat that not even the sharp clopping of their equine helmsman could break. Kit was in the clutches of the Crimson Marauder, which meant the hands of the very Air Pirates he had spent the majority of his life running from. Nobody knew yet if he was alive or dead. The Crimson Marauder, brain fried as she was, may well be crazy enough to do him in. Pete, their vile liutenant, was nasty enough if so inclined. And that said nothing of who else might have the desire to inflict pain on the old bear that they simply didn't know about.

It seemed hopeless, and Panchito knew it made Louie feel guilty. It made _Panchito_ feel guilty, and he was well known for being an optimist. A empathic kid like his nephew stood no chance against that kind of self-doubt.

So he decided to cut the tension with a joke. It always worked with Louie's uncle, after all. "Sure, but when _I_ say you should, it's in one ear and out the other! I'm hurt." He chuckled as Louie whipped around, actually looking sorry before he caught the look on Panchito's face. Then he was laughing too, just as Panchito hope. The rooster stepped forward and put his hand on Louie's shoulder. "We'll get him back, _mi hijo!_ We haven't failed yet, and that includes this. Unless you think facing your brothers is too hard..."

Louie shrugged himself out of Panchito's grip, though still playfully. "Hard or not, I can only fix it if I start now. I'll finally clear the air. The bond of brothers can never be broken, right? Then we'll see if it's too hard."

Panchito didn't bother to mention again that this ws the point of his little speech. If thinking of this in terms of a challenge helped him get past his hesitation, then he was happy to let him barge on ahead.

"So," Panchito ventured, "do you need a ride, or…"

"No!" Louie shouted, making him jump. "This is something a Duck's got to do himself!"

And with that, he launched himself over the side of the ship and into their one and only lifeboat… which plummeted into the water and promptly turned itself upside down. There was a string of odd syllables – Louie wasn't much the type to swear – until finally Panchito could see the sight of the upright boat drifting into the distance, even from on deck. Louie wave goodbye from a distance, but didn't turn around – a good sign, as far as the rooster was concerned.

"Ay, he's growing up," said Panchito. "I'm proud of the little chamaco. He's wiser than I was around that age, that's for sure." He turned from sight of Louie's retreat, and walked back into the bridge.

On a table at the opposite side of the wheel a mass of papers – the sum of whatever intel they had at the time, and then some – were piled here and there. Panchito walked straight over to them and sat down, looking through one or another page.

As he did, he continued to reminisce. "He's at least a lot less stubborn than his Uncle Donald, but then who couldn't be?" He laughed wildly, then noticed the empty chair. After getting used to the old adventurer's presence, going over intel like this by himself seemed like much more of a chore - the Caballeros were not known for their zeal for paperwork. But it's what he had to do to find out where his captured cohort was. "I really have to get Kit and Donald in a room one day. Heck, Darkwing and Donald would be a fun mix too."

And with that last amusing through, got to work. In front of him was everything they knew about the Air Pirates – fleet movements, known appearances, weapon schematics, criminal records and newspaper clippings – especially regarding Pegleg Pete. He had even gotten his hands on things about Gosalyn: notes from things Darkwing shared about her character, and their adventures together.

"What was it Kit would say?" He imitated Kit's raspy voice. "'Someone very important to me once said that when the bad guys start using their muscles, you have to start using your head.'" He chuckled. "That codger had to have been fighting those pirates since longer than I've been alive, the modest so-and-so." Panchito had a very clear idea just how old Cloudkicker really was, and he could always appreciate a good adventure. Kit and even Louie tended to be a bit more cynical, though. "Though these days, using our heads hasn't _quite_ been cutting it."

It was a sobering thought, but again - Panchito was an optimist. He looked over at his horse - who was busy manning the boat and wasn't listening at all. "By then, Senor Martinez, don't we Caballeros have a saying too? 'Be as brave as you say so, and bright as a peso!' Ha ha!"

"So…" He went on. "To be brave, we need an advantage..." Chore though it was - a busy as busy work could be, his adventurer's heart was saying - Panchito delved into the papers with aplomb. "Looks like I've got a fun evening ahead of me! There's always a way to have a good time..."

* * *

 _Underneath the Fearsome Dive,_

After the day he had – which wasn't even over, he could tell - Bushroot returned to the Fearsome Dive hoping to find no surprises whatsoever. He didn't need any – he half thought another shock would wilt him right where he stood - and he didn't trust his chaotic comrades to keep him from getting any – who would?

But there was no use putting it off. He opened the top secret door to the Fearsome Five's top secret underground hideout and – as expected - a dozen things assaulted his senses all at once:

One-Shot had evidently pulled something large and explosive out of his chest during a game of catch, and now there was a cave in in one of the side corridors. Splatter Phoenix had made "art" out of all of Bianca Beakley's headshots, and now the ex-newscaster had a legion of drones furiously scouring all the walls of paint while battling the typical rash of artistic monstrosities, all while copies of her head flew about the battlefield spewing complaints. Hammerhead Hannigan – not at his post at the bar upstairs – was hanging by the horns from the wall, with a certain automaton looking particularly smug. And Camille was hiding by the door practically _waiting_ , in the form of a giant, unnervingly amorous ladybug…

But, wouldn't you know: no surprises.

With a relieved sigh, he whisked about the room fixing each little problem the usual way: a few vine creatures to clear the cave in, a hasty retreat from Camille, some microwaved popcorn so they could all watch Beakley and Pheonix – he needed a break something fierce, even though he knew he _probably_ shouldn't waste the time taking one. But he even got Hannigan out of the wall and back upstairs, though Armstrong didn't look happy (as if he ever did).

He would deal with that later - he was just happy things in _here_ were normal, even if things out there with Quackerjack defied understanding.

"Ssso my sssweet," Camille sidled up to Bushroot as Beakley and Phoenix were in the twilight hours of their mini-war. He had been so distracted by the watercolor explosions that he hadn't made much good on his "hasty retreat." "What miracle bringsss you back to usss? Don't think we didn't noticsse your conssspicuous absssence."

So experienced was Bushroot that he didn't react to just how many "s" sounds Camille could fit into a single sentence. He could swear sometimes that she did it on purpose. "Just a little mix up I needed to take care of," he said, trying to be casual. It was probably a mistake – everyone knew he didn't do "casual" well.

"You _and_ Rowe _**and**_ Quackerjack? Sssounds like a rather ssserious mixsss to me," she smirked.

He scoffed – he wouldn't bother insulting her intelligence by denying anything (or any of the others who might have been listening in), but he wasn't going to offer anything either. At least, not yet.

However…

"Just sit tight. I might actually need your help a little later," he said with a sigh. This was going to come back to bite him, he could tell. "You _can_ do a bloodhound, or something like that, right?"

He was right: Camille looked like Valentine's Day had come early. "For you, my sssunflower, I can make my nossse do _anything."_

 _Well, that ends that conversation!_ Bushroot's mind told him, as he abruptly stood up and practically whisked himself across the room. By now, Beakley and Phoenix were done destroying the lair, and it was time to make someone clean up the mess.

"Ugh! Now comes the jackbooted authoritarian superego out to stifle the right brained liberation that is my artistical expression!" Splatter Phoenix said the moment she saw him coming. He didn't even get a chance to say anything! As one of the few people with enough of a vocabulary to follow Phoenix' jargon – even the words she occasionally got wrong – he found her occasionally fun to talk to when she wasn't on a rant, but there was a limit.

Unfortunately, Beakley wasn't in an any more open mood. Like him, she too understood Phoenix better than most of the others, and as always she was unamused. "What he's going to do is make you pay for ruining my property! My likeness is my life, you second rate doodler!"

"Ha!" Came the reply. "As if your low brows weren't tossed aside by the lowbrow periodicals you call media years ago!"

Beakley responded by trying to brain Pheonix with a jagged piece of broken drone, which probably would have hurt someone not made of paint so Bushroot felt it was time to step in.

" Alright, already! Sheesh!" The two stopped – they looked displeased to say the least, but they stopped. He turned the artist first. "Phoenix, come on. We're on a roll here. You've already made the club the most avant garde hangout slash secret paint deathtrap the country has ever seen, haven't you? _And_ your proposal for our next major crime was pretty great-"

She grinned maniacally. "Every mass produced, sensationalist piece of trash in that shopping mall they call an art gallery will be replaced-"

"'- by your masterpieces, while we profit off the materialist drivel,' yes I know," he said, heading her off. "All I'm saying is, there's no reason to pick a fight with a teammate when everything is coming up…" He paused, groaning. "… roses."

"And there I thought you were above such puerile habits as…" She too groaned, though with a lot more disgust on her part. "… puns."

"We're supervillains. It slips out like pollen, okay?" he said brusquely, getting back on topic. "Look, can't we just fix all this and call it a day already?" He said, referring of course to the small flood of paints and oils that covered the floor, mixed with floating pieces of electronics.

"Hmph," she frowned, but again – she was clearly unhappy, but she wasn't disagreeing. Bushroot may be considered softer than the other two leaders of the Five, but he has no problem showing why he was one of its more powerful members when pushed, and Phoenix _hated_ starting a difficult fight out of the blue.

 _And maybe_ ,Bushroot had to think, _there's something to be said for this "authority" thing after all._

"Fine," she finally spat out, "as long as I don't have to deal with her idolizing her own visage as if it were art!""

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Beakley sticking her tongue out at her and rounded on the other half of the incident.

Bushroot couldn't say he completely disagreed with Phoenix: none of them particularly liked Beakley or her habits, even given the way villains typically hated each other, but it wouldn't be fair to blame her this: she really wasn't the one who started it.

He _could_ , however, blame her for the resulting property damage. "W-what kind of madwoman unleashes an army of drones in the middle of their top secret lair? I've seen some crazy ideas, I mean I can't say I haven't _done_ a few, but… you _do_ know this place is airtight, don't you?"

"Excuse me?" Beakley scoffed, completely missing the peacekeeping nature of the conversation. "She started it!"

Ten migrane-inducing minutes later – a feat, given that plants typically didn't get headaches – he was finding that the lack of surprises did not necessarily mean a lack of stress, but at least the lair looked less like a Jackson Polecat painting.

In fact, he was just about to consider the mayhem managed and dip away from the common area to get some solitude and search for a few more leads, when Armstrong spoke.

This, in itself, was a bad sign. Armstrong was a silent observer most of the time. When he got involved, it tended to be trouble - given his barely hidden allegiances. And the look in his eye, plus the way he conspicuously stopped Bushroot from leaving when he already had a foot in the door…

Yes, Bushroot was certain this was another headache incoming…

"EXPERT. MANAGEMENT. SKILLS." Amstrong said, in that monotone that always seemed sardonic nonetheless. Bushroot scowled, waiting for him to make the proverbial right hook. "I. NOTICE. YOU. HAVE. MANAGED. TO. DEFLECT. FROM. THE. ABSENCE. OF. QUACKERJACK. AND. ROWE. AS. WELL."

There it was. "Hoo boy, this is why I prefer biology, not robotics..." Bushroot muttered under his breath. "I always end up with a pain in my leafy butt!"

Sometimes he went to soil at night wondering why they had ever bothered to accept that mysterious package in the first place - besides the bundles of cash they got from that job, of course. It had sure seemed nice at the time, but that just hid the price tag of its own it came with. Armstrong would do this whenever he spied a problem in the group he felt he could pick at – he dove in and said one or two things to instigate the conflict.

The villains knew he was a spy, knew he was just trying to keep them weak, but he had a knack for saying or knowing just the wrong thing at just the right time.

Case in point: "Oi, yeah!" One-Shot snapped, always one to take an easy bait. "Where _are_ the other two, eh?"

"Lost them, have you 'boss?'" Beakley said with a sneer.

"Course not! Don't be silly!" He said far too quickly – why did _he_ have to deal with sort of thing? With no other ideas for changing the subject, he marched over to the remote "nonchalantly" turned on the Five's television – fooling absolutely no one. "Now clam up and pay attention to the tv. I hear there's a good documentary on poison ivy playing…"

"You are ssstill not ssso good at lying, my sssweet," Camille whispered into his ear, clearly getting some sadistic enjoyment out of his stress. And she wondered why he didn't date…

"THEY. ARE. CLEARLY. MISSING… AND. HAVE. LEFT. **YOU.** TO. KEEP. HOUSE." Armstrong was also obviously enjoying himself. "ARE. YOU. KEEPING. IMPORTANT. INFORMATION. FROM. THE. GROUP?"

Bushroot winced. That wasn't entirely wrong (already, Beakley was shouting "the nerve!" as loud as she could be heard), and the others could tell from his expression. Unlike just One-Shot, this got _all_ of the others' dander up. He really didn't want to have to try and corral the entire Fearsome Five all on his lonesome, surprisingly powerful or not.

"Hmph!" Splatter Phoenix scoffed, staring off the angry mob in style. "I won't be manipulated by any bureaucratic obfuscation!"

One-Shot jumped to her side, missing her disdainful look. "Yeah! And you can't take us for a ride either!"

Bushroot backed up, his grit already starting to fail him. "C-calm down, it's not like that. And… wait…" He stopped short, glancing at something that had just come on screen. It couldn't be… "Let me turn that up."

"Oh, don't even try it! You can't distract me from the truth that easily!" Beakley snarled. "I'm a reporter!"

"Hey, what about us?" One-Shot protested.

"Okay, sure," she shrugged. "You could probably get one past _them!"_

"Hey!"

"I'm actually being serious!" Bushroot suddenly shouted, which actually succeeded in quieting them for a split second. "Look!"

The group, as one, all turned to the screen. And then, as one, they all short circuited – figuratively, of course, though Armstrong came close to doing the real thing. Within the minute, Beakley and Splatter Phoenix were shoulder to shoulder leaning into the screen, One-Shot had thrown _himself_ into a knockout from the stress, Armstrong was struck completely silent, and even Hammerhead was abandoning the bar again to lean in and watch.

Bushroot did nothing about any of this – he was too busy shouting, _actually shouting,_ for someone to bring him the secure line so he could make a call – because this was _truly_ unbelievable and, most importantly, probably a sign of trouble…

* * *

 _Above The City_

Meanwhile, as this was happening, NegaGosalyn and Rowe were a hundred feet off the ground – literally hanging from a single hook – oblivious to any secret projects or strange television reports.

It was a boring flight, save for the sharp twists and turns. Whatever state the TeleConstructor was in, it wasn't the best condition of its life. It seemed split between tasks, suddenly veering in one direction before realigning itself with another – if it wasn't for NegaGosalyn's training and cold focus, and Rowe's sheer spite against giving death an inch, one or both of them might not have made it through.

But once they got used to it, there wasn't much to do but wait for whatever answers they were pursuing to present themselves - which left a lot of time for conversation.

"So mate, what's a beautiful mercenary like you doing in a dimension like this?"

"Seriously?"

 _Attempted_ conversation, to be precise.

It was tough to hear over the wind whipping around them, or the pressure getting to their ears, but that sort of thing hardly ever stopped Rowe when he has something ill-advised he wanted to say.

"You know what I mean," he muttered, then repeated louder when he realized he wouldn't be heard. "What're you doing in our crazy ol' dimension again, anyway? We've been fighting so much, and somehow the question never came up."

"And I repeat," she hissed. "Seriously?"

"You're clearly not livin' it up any, thaat's for sure." Rowe continued. He never had shaken the habit of living dangerously. "Only Darkwing's kids and us three crooks even know you're here."

"I'm here because Crimson can't be," she replied.

"Right… cause she's…" he trailed. Even fewer people knew what happened to the real Crimson than knew who NegaCrimson was. The thought of his one time seeing her, the way she was now, made him shudder. The look in her eyes still shook him. "But that's only now anyways," he said, dropping the subject as quick as he could. "So, what. You just happened to show up when Crimson went bonkers and that crazy Negaduck-wannabe showed up?"

There was a sigh from her this time. She tried to avoid getting into a full conversation, but it was starting to look like there was nothing for it. "I came here to stop NegaH…" she paused, covering her slip with a cough in the wind, "to stop Techno's double, after he escaped into this world. You've met him, I understand."

Rowe shrugged. "You might say that. Can't say I'm surprised someone came around to drag him back home. But all by your lonesome, mate? None of those Friendly Four-types with you?" He said incredulously.

Her voice was carefully set. She was _not_ intending to have this conversation right now, nothing to do but hang or not. "I appreciate them, but I don't need them."

Rowe wasn't convinced. "I feel like that kind of thinking got you a whole heap of pain in the old days, sometimes literal."

"It was barely last year. Don't call it 'the old days," she replied curtly, "and it's not any of your business whether I do or don't think I need anyone else."

"Guess not, duckie," he said, "and hey, if you can take care of that jerk all by yourself, more power to ya."

"It's already taken care of." She said gravely, thinking unpleasantly of the sight of NegaHonker disintegrating at the bottom of that cliff. "He's dead."

"By the fur…" Unlike her, Rowe really did cough into the wind at that. "I stand corrected! You did him in?"

"Not me, no." She sighed. "Let's just say ever since this all started, my double's been… busy."

"Oh." Rowe looked down, and immediately regretted it. It was quite a distance below, and they _were_ zooming around rather speedily. He tried to close his eyes, but all he could see in that moment was that look in Crimson's eyes again. Neither sight was particularly calming. "Well that's no good, mate."

"No. It isn't."

"Any…" For once, Rowe was nervous to press a conversation. "Any headway on getting her back to where she's supposed to be?"

"And how am I supposed to make any headway, floating like an idiot above the city with a hundred pounds of dead weight clinging too me?" She snarled defensively.

"Ouch," Rowe mock gasped.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled. "You wanted to know why I'm here alone? Because if I _don't_ work alone, if I bring other people into my messes, stuff like this happens."

"' _Your'_ mess?" Rowe scoffed. "We called _you,_ mate, remember?"

"You know what I mean," she sighed deeply, only getting more frustrated as they continued to whip around. She roared up at the robot poorly ferrying them around. "Oh for- PICK A SPOT YOU STUPID THING!" She shouted, yanking violently at the grapple – trying in vain to pull the TeleConstructor… somewhere, but mostly just letting off anger.

"Uh…"

She looked back down at Rowe's confused face, almost feeling ashamed at her loss of control in front of her former cohort. Almost. She turned away and stared off into the horizon, wishing she had something to bonk her forehead against. "Honestly… _'let's make_ _ **you**_ _the leader, you'll be so much better than Negaduck,'_ " she muttered to herself, imitating some voice unknown to her companion in a rant she didn't seem to realize was not _quite_ quiet enough to remain personal. "Some big idea. I can't even lead myself and one idiot across town, let alone anyone else."

"Dunno if I can agree with that one," Rowe said, and with a groan she realized he heard every word. She looked down again, and saw him staring up at her with a sudden, lascivious grin. "I might be biased, cause I'd follow a lovely lady like you just about anywhere - within reason."

It took some effort not to wince at his own lame words. It wasn't exactly the least transparent move he ever made, or the wisest, but he figured if flirting got her mad at him it at least would keep her mind off of her troubles. She realized right away what he was trying to do – she wasn't stupid, after all – but since the alternative was spiraling into self-doubt in the middle of a job (that could at least wait until later), she decided to lean into it.

"I could still drop you, you know," she said wryly, with a picture perfect snarl.

He just smirked back and stubbornly tightened his grip on her legs. "Nah, yer stuck with me until solid grou-"

Their banter was suddenly rudely interrupted, as the TeleConstructor veered off from its already erratic path and dropped rapidly in altitude.

With yelps of surprise, NegaCrimson and Rowe hastily doubled their bearings. Rowe really did tighten his grip, as he had the worst chance of being thrown off – not that her situation was much better.

"Case in point!" He shouted, as they held on for dear life. She didn't respond, mostly because she was focusing entirely on keeping her fingers around the grapple.

As they got closer to ground, it started to become clearer where they were headed. It was a warehouse in the industrial district: one of several, though this one had the McDuck logo on it. At first, it seemed as though their glitchy ride would fly them straight into the roof, but then an opening on the side became visible as the TeleConstructor twisted around for entry. They were going inside – hopefully without any deadly whiplash.

"Get ready to roll!" NegaCrimson shouted into the wind. She didn't have to see Rowe nodding to know he was listening – again, he was rather against dying.

The TeleConstructor shot into the warehouse and suddenly stopped – as a small robot full of sci-fi servos and an absent minded scientist's best innovations, it could do such a short stop without much damage, but its riders would not be so lucky. Thinking quickly, NegaCrimson twisted her position on the grapple so that it would swing them like a vine, and then released it at just the right time.

Because of her quick thinking, the two were able to control their fall a lot more deftly – rather than slamming into the wall or ceiling at high speed. And with one more fast thought, she pulled out her gas gun – just the same as Darkwing's or the real Crimson's – and shot a pellet out of it: the object inflated as it hit the ground, creating a soft balloon of a cushion for the two to land on.

They rolled off the balloon, and it said a lot about what the two usually went through that even given the brush with death, it felt like business as usual.

"Nice piece," Rowe commented as he got his bearing again. He eyed the gas gun with an appreciative smile – it was a lot more cool when it wasn't being used against _him._

NegaCrimson nodded, but kept most of her attention on their surroundings. They were surrounded by bays – empty ones. Theirs wasn't the only TeleConstructor out and about, though admittedly their was the only one still moving: others were hovering here and there, waiting for an order, or laid about the ground making odd electronic noises. Few were still in their storage.

"This must be the main hub for the construction bots," she concluded.

Rowe nodded. "Well, McDuck's at least." He said, looking around. He took stock of the TeleConstructors lying about with a bit of marvel. "They're busy aren't they?"

"Very. I'm not exactly an accounting wizard, but on a quick count it looks like some are missing," she replied. Her eyes narrowed, under her mask. "Even given how big this city is and the size of the reconstruction effort, there wouldn't be so much work that these _all_ would be so active, would they?"

Rowe frowned, thinking about it. After a moment he noticed her staring at him, and realized she wanted an actual answer. "You're asking me, mate?"

"It's your city, isn't it? I just live here for the time being." She said, eyeing him. "How much construction do you usually get?"

He blinked. "A lot, but you're right." He said. "Not this much, mate, at least not in the last few weeks, and _especially_ not with Scroogey and Glomgold splitting the workload." She nodded, accepting the clue, but Rowe only felt annoyed. "Course, I don't know what a warehouse full of bugged out bots has to do with Quackerjack going missing!"

"Obviously _something,_ "she sighed, speaking to him as if it was obvious. Maybe it was, if Rowe thought about it, but he hardly considered himself a detective. "Maybe his scheme involved hijacking them."

"Possible, but I don't think Quackerjack would've been able to keep an army of toys he could play with secret, least of all from us. Maybe he hitched a ride and accidentally turned all these on."

"Maybe." She accepted. "It _would_ be like a maniac like him to cause this much chaos. But that doesn't explain where he is now."

Rowe frowned, a little insulted. "Maniac?"

"You going to deny it?"

Rowe was about to, but then reconsidered. "… guess I can't, can I?"

"No, you can't." She said with a final air. With that she turned away and walked further into the warehouse, flicking open some kind of scanner and casting it over the ground. "I still don't think we have the full story. I'm going to try and find a few more clues." She turned back a humorless smirk, as if only by some odd obligation. "Try not to get stuck in a time loop while I'm gone."

"Charming, mate," Rowe growled, "but what about the-"

He trailed off, realizing she wasn't listening. He glanced at the TeleConstructor that brought them there – it was still on high alert, but he supposed it wasn't bothering anyone for the moment. On the flipside, that meant he had nothing to occupy his attention – no smells or immediate oddities threw themselves at him, at least.

He shrugged. "Guess I'll give ol' Bushy a status report," he said. He opened up a radio channel – Fearsome Five brand earpieces being semi-state of the art and all – but only got static. "Dang, no signal. Stupid thing." He frowned. "Then again, we are kind of sittin' in the middle of a private network."

Whatever the reason, this meant no talking to Bushroot for the time being. That meant there was only one thing left to do. But then, perhaps he was feeling suicidal today.

Throwing caution to the wind, he waltzed over to where NegaCrimson was still poring over specks of dust on the ground and – very obviously - cleared his throat.

A sigh. "What?"

"You know," he said with a 'courting danger' sort of voice. "You were wrong earlier, mate."

The look she gave him was incredulous, at least. "Choose your next words carefully, Rowe."

Now that he had her attention, he dropped the smarmy tone. "About all these things going wrong when you can't work alone," he replied. "Frankly, knowing our luck you know as well as I do that this kinda crap would just happen same as always. Not even you are slick enough to keep from getting buried under a pile of misfortune."

It took her a moment to respond. "… you don't know what you're talking about," she finally said.

"But I'm not wrong, am I?"

"I'm not just talking about setbacks on a heist or even l-losing a friend, the way we're losing Crimson. When I say 'things go wrong,' I'm talking about decisions that can affect thousands of lives, millions. Not that it's any business of yours, but that's my life now. And if I can't protect one little friend against the consequences of my own business, if I can't find my way out of that situation, how am I supposed to do any of that?"

That was a bit more than Rowe was expecting, but he would gladly take it. "Not that it's any of my business, of course," he replied, unable to help himself.

She put the scanner away. From the looks of it, she was about one more smart comment away from knocking him out. "What'd I say about choosing your words carefully?"

"Okay, okay," he backed off, chuckling. "But I think you're selling yourself short. After all, mate, Bushroot and me called you about this because we knew you were the only one who just might solve it."

"You called me because it was less risky than calling Darkwing."

"Maybe, but you're dealing just as well as he could. Who is it that's taken charge of this whole operation?" He said sternly. "Hell, in the face of this – let's call it a crisis – who is it that took Crimson's spot with gusto, eh? Who is it that's out there protecting the city day and night these days? Is it Darkwing or Techno? Nah, this has wiped both of them out."

NegaCrimson scowled. That wasn't fair. Partially true, but not fair. "They have their own reasons for being busy."

"I'm sure they do, mate," Rowe replied. "But while they're taking care of that stuff, somebody's been keeping the city safe, fighting us bad guys – which is _annoying ,_ by the way! – and making sure a certain someone's reputation stays safe no matter how many buildings she burns down."

At this, she sat down – no longer interested in inspecting the warehouse. She stared into the wall, not even flinching as Rowe sat down a short distance away. "Even if that were true, it doesn't matter. You don't have any context for this, but we're talking about… everything. Negaduck's whole empire. You're looking at the heir that's supposed to fix everything." She laughed bitterly. "Sure, I can take on problems like this. I can beat up morons in costumes and stop a few petty crimes. And that's cause at the end of the day, I'm a merc playing at being a good guy, not a leader." She glared at the otter who dragged this all out of her. "You should know better than anyone about playing with situations outside your ken."

"Ouch." He smirked. "But yeah, I do. When we started this whole enterprise-"

"You're calling a band of crazies an 'enterprise?'" She interrupted.

He gave her a dour look. " _When we started this enterprise-"_ he hissed, insistently starting over. "We were way out of our depth, and we had nowhere to go. Our old roles were in ashes. The bad guys thought we were too good. The good guys figured we were too bad. And, mate, we were to be honest. Bushroot talks about that all the time, how in the old days he would deal with it by being a loner, and only coming up for air in desperate times. He hated it. But he told me this – this idea, of leaning into it, it's a lot better."

"Leaning into it?" She jeered again. "You mean trying to corner the market in ridiculous crime?"

This time he ignored her. "Bushroot's a smart guy. I never really… _got it_ , before. But what we did, mate, was just… do it our way. So the villains wouldn't let us play, for not being a bunch of murderin' psychos? We redefined villainy, mate, so that didn't matter. The good guys don't know what to make of us? Well now they do, by the fur. We went out and did the thing we thought we couldn't do, and only did it by being… well… the only way _we_ could be."

"And now, with begrudging respect, the Fearsome Five is a bigger name than it ever has been before," she admitted. "The semi-bad guys are the face of villainy in St. Canard. Noted," she said, suddenly taking a turn for the acidic. "But your bragging isn't helping any."

"I'm not trying to brag, I'm just saying!" He groaned, gradually going from a whine to something stronger. "So you're a merc. So you've got a ruthless way of looking at things. So despite all that, you're too _good_ to go back to the way you were. So _own_ it! You're the one who's supposed to be in charge, right?" He shrugged once more, and stood up. "But keeping by yourself, just setting yourself up to fail all the time, that ain't you."

"Great," she sighed, but she too stood up to join him. "A pep talk from a knob. Talk about wisdom from the gutter."

"Hey!"

"Okay," she sighed. "Sorry. But all the surprisingly wise words in the world isn't going to find Quackerjack, or figure out what all these haywire TeleConstructors have to do with his disappearance."

"Fair enough."

She smirked. "And no matter what you say, I still think you're a bit too bad to get it – even if I do appreciate the attempt."

"Best I'm gonna get, I suppose," Rowe sighed. The moment was clearly over. "So now what? If this is a dead end, maybe we should double back?"

"Maybe. Though it might take a-"

"Hold that thought." Rowe said suddenly, pointing over to where the TeleConstructor they rode in on was still hovering. "Think that's important?"

Having apparently had its fill of staying in one easy-to-keep-track-of place, the robot started going haywire: beeping and blaring high klaxons as it vibrated in place. The other, seemingly deactivated Constructors stayed where they were but repeated the sounds it made, filling the warehouse with shrill noise.

"Yes, Rowe!" NegaCrimson shouted as sarcastically as she could at the top of her lungs. "I do think that's important!"

"What?!"

NegaCrimson instantly decided it was too loud for this. She was about to yell so right in Rowe's ear, when suddenly the rogue Constructor shot for the window they entered from!

"Aw, crud!" She leaped forward, springing towards the robot before it could get away.

Rowe couldn't hear her over the noise, but he also leapt forward on his own. "It's gonna leave us behind, mate!" He shouted, assuming she didn't notice – but her grappling hook was already sailing through the air.

The cord struck the robot at _just_ the last second and jerked forward, pulling NegaCrimson along for the ride again. "Hold on tight!" She barked at Rowe, just in care he could hear this time, but she didn't stop to wonder about it – with no time to spare, she grabbed him around the waist as she flew by, and the both of them were hoisted up into the air and out of the warehouse.

"By the fur, mate! Not agaaaaaain!" Rowe bellowed into the night, to which NegaCrimson just groaned as the two disappeared into the skyline.

The echoes of the seemingly malfunctioning TeleConstructors kept going without them for a minute, then stopped. In the distraction of the noise, and the hurry of their exit, neither of the discarded Constructors too close attention. If they had, they might have noticed more than just the sound, but the way they were activating – one by one, until all of them were alight.

And once the disruption was gone, they began to rise...

* * *

 _Elsewhere…_

In a place far better hidden than anyone gave credit for - a mistake many would pay dearly for - a voice cried out in surprise.

"Oh! The proxies are activating early!"

Almost immediately, another voice answered. This one more in control – only a disinterested tone from this one.

"Oh? Well, it's not _too_ early. It shouldn't put us too far out of sorts." A pause. "I'm guessing this has something with the stunt you pulled a while ago?"

"A 'stunt' you let me do, mind you!" A cough, this time – an attempt at self control. "But no. If anything, it looks like this is an side-effect of your… erm… unique recruitment technique."

"So you're saying this is _our_ fault?"

There was no change in tone, but somehow the original voice knew to throw itself back and run over its words. "N-no!" It squeaked. "Of course no! I-It's just an odd situation, is all."

"Whatever," the second voice replied, as if there hadn't been an explanation at all. "Can you still control the TeleConstructors?"

"Y-yes, " the first voice wavered, as if shuddering. "They're just all waking up, and it'd be awful getting them all down and resetting them before your deadline. But all they're doing is trying to exercise their pre-programmed acts."

"Then keep some of them doing it, at exactly the addresses we planned," came the reply. "The rest, just get them hovering somewhere out of the way. We don't want a mass panic just yet. That's the fun part, and it comes later – when I can fully enjoy it…"

The voice gulped – but with no response, it could be assumed that the other voice had finally left this one all alone. Its owner could not be happier, but knew better than to make a party of it – so it got back to work.

It put in a name, and then another, and then another. A mass of TeleConstructors massed outside of that warehouse – one they were only viewing through a screen – but as the voice continued to work, one then more separated.

They each went off on their own, each with their own target – their own mission. Each due to bring new and unexpected chaos to another unsuspecting soul in St. Canard – the decisive strike, in a war most didn't realize was even happening…

* * *

 _Back To Macawber Manor_

Christine looked out of the window with a bit of worry. Time had clearly gotten away from them while they were sharing stories: it had gone from a hazy dusk to very dark out – though, granted, it was always like that around Macawber Manor.

"I think we lost track of time, somewhere…" she mused. Morgana was still seated, and she turned back to give the sorceress playful smirk. "I blame you and your stories about bunny commandos."

Morgana chuckled, but at the cue she rose as well. "Blame me all you want, dear. We both know you were rapt at attention."

They shared a laugh. Christine – feeling a lot better than she'd had since she came here – looked out towards the hallway. A bit of that worry came back – just a tad – as she remembered what else the time meant.

"I think we should get Charlie out of those tunnels." She said. She gave Morgana a questioning look. "And you're sure he's alright?"

"Trust me," Morgana said warmly. "I would have been notified the moment he was anywhere _near_ danger. In fact…" She produced a ball from her cloak – a crystal ball, Christine realized, go figure – and gazed within it. "He looks to be right outside the entrance. He must have had quite the adventure, _and_ made it back. Such a bright kid."

"I know," Christine grinned. "He's amazing."

"Well then," Morgana smiled as well. Christine's good vibes were lfiting her spirits as well – perhaps, she thought, more friends would do her good now. "We should reward him, shouldn't we? I'll get out the remains of my last blood cherry pie – it's to die fo-"

There was a loud, incomprehensible shriek from the foyer. Christine jumped, but Morgana simply sighed – as if it were nothing at all.

"Oh, bother. That's the doorbell," Morgana explained. "I'll get it."

"But what about-"

Morgana waved off Christine's obvious question. "Don't worry, like I said he's just by the entrance. You could get him as easily as I could."

Christine nodded – that seemed simple enough – and turned her way down the hall, towards the catacombs. She heard Morgana reach the door behind her, as she tried to remember the directions to the entrance: forget the maze of tunnels, the manor itself was too confusing for words and she hoped she wouldn't have to ask Morgana for help after all.

Then she heard a thud, followed by an "oh, my!" from Morgana, and she stopped short. That didn't sound right. There was a piercing shriek, and at first she assumed it just another bell until she realized it was coming from Morgana.

She whirled around, to see the aftereffects of a bright flash. Morgana was standing there, dazed, and she looked up to see a blur flying in her direction - aiming something unknowable right at her…

There was another shriek, and then another flash.

* * *

 _SHUSH Central, Roof_

Director Navis stood alone, well, semi-alone, enjoying the night's breeze while she could. She wasn't the type to eschew work when there were responsibilities to be handled – and there were _always_ responsibilities - but she did know well how to get a little relaxation in the midst of a job.

SHUSH was working on an extension of their HQ – nothing major, just a few offices for filing and a dozen redundant rooms to cloak those files' exact location. It wasn't a rarity – though given the cramped nature of St. Canard such an addition was forced vertical. But someone needed to be out here to oversee things. It was the price of faster construction.

Whereas a team of construction workers might have taken months, McDuck's TeleConstructors would take only a couple of weeks. That is, if they were working right.

The previous foremen reported erratic behavior from the robotic builders in the previous days, nothing major, but erratic and unresponsive were dangerous words in the field of espionage. And the kids Scrooge McDuck put in charge of his St. Canard branch hadn't been much help: Huey Duck kept blowing off her demands, and Dewey kept assuring her that there didn't appear to be anything wrong on their end.

In a situation where everyone either had no idea what was happening or couldn't give answers, Navis was often compelled to do so herself. Plus being out here allowed her to accomplish something besides high blood sugar during her coffee breaks.

If only it weren't so monotonous. The Constructors were operating normally: they flew backwards, they flew forwards. They welded here. They welded there. Up went the girders. Down went the detritus. Over and over and over again.

Feeling a surge of uncharacteristic boredom, Navis turned away for a minute and looked into the city's skyline. It seemed a little less bright, somehow. She hadn't been long, but she could feel an energy in the hustle and bustle sometimes, the way people who lived here their whole lives could. And these days, things felt… tenser.

Ever since the Pirate Auction, she knew. Ever since the Crimson Marauder.

Nobody but a select few knew what happened on that fateful night. As far as the public knew, the true Crimson Avenger was still out there protecting them, and the Crimson Marauder was just another evil doppelganger to add to the growing list. But the city's so-called heroes had changed, grown somber and more desperate, and Navis had to begrudgingly admit that the city was starting to feel it as well.

She sighed. Darkwing and his brood would never believe it, but it broke her heart refusing their use of Tron Manipulator technology. The man's daughter was out there, insane and murderous, and she had cut off his only path to getting her back – she fully understood the cruelty of such a situation. But her logic was sound. Tron Manipulation had gotten them into this mess, and too many others to count.

How long before something like this happened to the entirety of Darkwing's team. SHUSH couldn't keep them out of trouble forever, nor did she want things to come to blows between the two groups – again, not that Darkwing would ever believe it.

So she made the tough choice. She knew this job would be difficult when she took it. Darkwing might even thank her one day, though she doubted it. Whether he did or didn't, she had to keep the world turning as it always had – heroes or no heroes.

That didn't make the city feel any less dour. But it did steel her heart.

Though speaking of steel, she started to notice something strange. The screeching of metal over metal had stopped. In fact, all the noises had ceased.

She looked back at the construction site, to find that all the TeleConstructors had stopped. Instead of moving about doing their jobs, they were just… hovering there. And, she realized with twinge of suspicion, all of them were turned away from the extension.

All of them were facing her.

Suspicion turned to dread. Something was up. She knew it, but hindsight didn't figure this situation out. She took a step back, intending to fetch an agent with expertise in programming and – most certainly – counter-hacking. But all of the Constructors moved forward to match.

She froze. It wasn't clear what was going on, but this had "catastrophic security risk" written all over it. And possibly, "threat to the life of a superior agent."

Quick as the fast draw every agent of SHUSH had to be, Navis whipped a radio out of her cloak. Whatever was about to happen, she had to make her people ready. "Navis to security! Lock down the-"

There was flash, and the call stopped short with the trace of a wild laugh...

* * *

 _Karl Barksalot Memorial Park_

"What is it your pilot friend says, mate? Any crash you can walk away from…"

NegaCrimson blew a leaf out of her face and stomped away from Rowe, lest she lose her composure and punch him in his smarmy face.

They had crashed, it was true, but she had no intention of being happy about it. Their ride had erratically flown headlong into a tree, sending them sprawling through the branches like a giant duck and otter shaped kites. It was annoying and actually rather embarrassing, and she was starting to get very tired of the wild snipe hunt this whole case was slowly starting to appear to be.

If there was one upside, it was that their rogue TeleConstructor was no longer flying around like an inebriated bee. It was laying on the ground, offline – the collision had finally done it in. But that outweighed nothing: an annoyed, pointless feeling was starting to well up in her throat, and she'd had enough of it.

"I'm starting to think that Quackerjack set this all up to mess with you and Bushroot," she snapped to her "partner." "And lucky me, I ended up getting dragged along for the ride. What a waste of time."

Behind her, Rowe gave a thoughtful hum. "Yeah, I was beginning to think so too. 'Til I saw this."

She turned around. Rowe was crouched over the broken TeleConstructor, inspecting it for clues – something she, in her annoyance, had admittedly overlooked. He traced his hand over a dent near its base.

"Look at this, here," he said. "That wasn't made by the crash. And it's familiar, ain't it mate?"

It only took a quick glance to tell he was right. That wasn't a dent. It was too wide, too precise. What it looked like was… teeth marks. From a giant, oversized mouth.

"Quackerjack's chattering teeth!" She said. Rowe nodded, having come to the same conclusion.

"Can't believe we didn't see it before," he said, "This thing here's been in a bit of a scuffle with Quacky, but he got it good."

"Yes… he did," NegaCrimson said slowly, as the wheels in her head kicked into overdrive. "Maybe this wasn't a waste of time after all. Let's see…" She paced back and forth, trying to visualize everything. "Someone reprogrammed this thing. It attacked Quackerjack for… some reason, and took him somewhere. But he damaged it, causing it to malfunction. And now… now it's repeating itself."

"So all we have to do is look around, and we'll find him?" Rowe said, looking around as if Quackerjack would appear just like that. No such luck, however.

"If you want," NegaCrimson relied, a smarmy smile of her own coming to her as everything fell into place. "Personally, I think this city would be fine to be down one of the Fearsome Five."

Rowe didn't bother to dignify the joke. "Two," he said, only correcting her.

"Two…" NegaCrimson paused. "That's right. Plumis disappeared as well."

"She goes by 'Extra' now, but yeah, mate," Rowe said. "Kind of forgot about her for a while, didn't we?"

"Forgot about her…" NegaCrimson repeated again, as if in a trance. Then suddenly, her eyes opened. "Right! We forgot about her! Where does she fit into all of this?"

"How should I know?" Rowe raised an eyebrow. "You're the one doing the detective thing."

"No, you knob! I mean…" NegaCrimson took a deep breath to center herself. "What if she's more important to all this than we thought. We've been assuming this whole time that Quackerjack is the one this has all been about, but what if he's not? We found a trail to Quackerjack. We didn't find _anything_ about Plumis!"

Rowe grimaced, unsure. "I don't know… Extra still kind of a small player on the villain circuit. She's got it out for Glomgold, but I doubt he even cares. Who would go this far to attack her?"

"True," she admitted, "but it's a theory I'm saving. This all seems too fishy."

"Lucky for you, mate, I like fishy."

Not exactly appreciating another joke, NegaCrimson narrowed her eyes at him. Not entirely caring, he smiled sheepishly at her. And they were interrupted by the sound of Bushroot's voice coming in through Rowe's communicator.

" _Come in! Rowe, would you answer already? Honestly, can't count on anybody to answer a phone these days, I swear-"_

"Guess we're out of that interference. I better take this," Rowe chuckled. "He'll be at this forever if I don't." Sparing her glare another smirk, he put the communicator on. "Hey, Bushy. How's it hanging, mate? Got quite the goose chase to tell you ab-"

" _Forget that right now!"_ Bushroot bellowed, so loud that Rowe winced and NegaCrimson could hear every word. _"Do you know what's on the news?"_

"Uh… no?" Rowe blinked. "Investigating, mate. Remember?"

" _Then turn it on, if you can! You need to see this!"_

At bit confused, but trusting Bushroot to know urgency when he saw it, Rowe turned to NegaCrimson. "You wouldn't happen to have some gizmo we can use to watch tv, would ya?"

Since she had heard Bushroot's request the same as him, NegaCrimson was already on it. "No, but I do have a radio." She said, fiddling with her wrist. "Give me a second…" She tapped a button on her own communicator, and out came the voice of a late night newscaster.

" _The financial sector is reeling today, following the upset of Flintheart Glomgold's press conference just a few hours ago…"_

"Oh, great," she sighed. Speaking of drains on her patience… "Now what's _he_ up to?" Rowe shushed her, and just to get it over with she obliged.

" _On his own network program, News on the Wing, Glomgold assembled a team of reporters and gave a shocking address, detailing the events of many apparent crimes over the course of his many years as a businessman."_

The two looked at each other in alarm. "Wait, what?" They said at the exact same time.

" _These crimes include grand larceny, smuggling, exploitation, fraud and even attempted murder. Police are investigating each of the incidents, but if Mr. Glomgold's confessions hold weight he could be accountable for dozens of felony charges. Here is an excerpt:"_

Now Glomgold's voice came in over the radio. Despite the situation, his tone of voice seemed content – even a little perky. _**"Ah cannae longer hold in me conscience over all the harm ah've committed, ah just cen't. Even me time here – this great race fer St. Canard's soul, feh, just an old man's greed – is the result of me vile misdeeds. Ah wouldn't even be here if ah hadn't done business with a band of criminals, the Fearsome Five-"**_

"He wouldn't. He's not-" Rowe gasped. NegaCrimson shushed him.

" _ **\- and manipulated them into stealin' me rival Scrooge's trade secrets, then blackmailed 'im into leavin' it be."**_

The interviewer, Clive Ganderson, pushed forward – shock clear on his voice. _"Blackmailed him? With… what?"_

" _ **Ach, ah cannae say. Scrooge, he's a better man than me. He always has been, he always will be. And all ah threatened was to drag him innae the mud, over nothin'. Ah cannae do it any more!"**_

The recording cut off there, but the newscaster continued his report. _"Neither Scrooge McDuck nor his local representatives Huey and Dewey Duck could be reached for comment about this or any other of the many crimes against them Mr. Glomgold went on to indicate. The confession continued for several hours, before the press conference was forced to conclude: the many statements included inside information on the workings of the Beagle Boys gang, connections to known terrorist Horatio Bluebottle, collusion with several local criminals to frame News on the Wings' own Julia Plumis – who is now known as the supervillain Extra, development of illegal 'Armstrong' technology once invented by Dr. Gyro Gearloose, an extensive diamond trafficking operation based out of South America…"_

NegaCrimson cut off the transmission there. But they both stared at the radio for a moment, as if it would spout out some other crazy revelation on its own.

"Okay…" she said, after some time. "That was unexpected."

"Unexpected?!" Rowe exploded. "Mate, that's downright inconceivable. He can't just confess to everything! That's… that gonna make this place a madhouse!"

"Yes. Yes it will," she agreed. "Which means I need to get back to Darkwing." Rowe tensed alongside her, but she put a hand on his shoulder. "But I agreed to do this. So we're going to look for Quackerjack and Extra here, and only here. If they're not here, I can't continue on."

"That's fair," he said. He walked ahead, perhaps understanding the crunch this put her on more than she thought he would. Or maybe this left him with madness of his own to deal with. "Let's get movin'. Extra'll want to hear to good news. She'll be over the moon."

His jokes were shaky, as if he were trying to steady himself. She knew the feeling. "Not to mention Quackerjack," she added. "Chaos like this? He'll be laughing for days."

"Yeah, I can already hear him," he said, trying to calm his nerves with the thought. He didn't quite manage it, but at least his voice wasn't quavering as much. "Speaking of, I should call Bushy."

He turned on his communicator, and the space ahead of NegaCrimson quickly devolved into panicky shouting between the two supervillains. She let them talk, even though probing their frantic jabbering was probably a smarter move strategically: flustered enemies have loose lips.

But she had thinking to do. Rowe was right to freak out. This _was_ insane. Flintheart Glomgold would never act like that, even on a good day. Was he up to something? Was incriminating himself part of some master plan that none of them understood? It didn't seem to make sense.

And was it related to the disappearances? Two members of the Fearsome Five vanish, Glomgold starts giving out bitter secrets, what was next? Tuskernini swearing off cinema?

She had to keep her eyes open. That fishy feeling was only getting stronger.

Rowe stopped her as they reached the center of the park, which was graced with a giant fountain. He had already finished his conversation with Bushroot, though his eyes were still a little wild.

He gripped her shoulder, yet didn't seem to notice her annoyance. "Oi, remember when I said I could already hear Quackerjack laughing?"

Assuming this was another attempt at a bracing joke, NegaCrimson gave him only a half-hearted glare. "… yes?"

"I think I _can_ hear him. Listen!"

NegaCrimson quirked an ear. He was right. She _could_ hear laugher – distinctive and high, in a way only the villainous jester could.

They ran forward, towards the source of the sound: the plaza in the center. As they got closer, they could hear him in front of the fontain, laughing on and on – something was happening! There was a crowd: were they apprehending him? Was he attacking them? They couldn't tell. They might have expected him to be mobbed by police or security on the average day – but there were no sounds of a scuffle.

When they got close enough to see, they realized why – with what would have been the most shocking experience of the day, if not for news.

The crowd was made up of kids and their parents – this being a nice neighborhood, parents sometimes took their kids out at night without fear of running into villains, super or otherwise. And though it seemed they had, there was no angry shouting, no frightened shrieks, no pitchforks and torches. They actually seemed _happy._

The kids giggled merrily, approaching the masked harlequin at the center. Quackerjack laughed uproariously and pulled something they couldn't quite see - something bright and dangerously colorful - out of his pocket, handing it to the unsuspecting child…

"Seriously? He's doing the trick toy thing again?" Rowe mused. "So much for originality."

NegaCrimson didn't care about whether it was original or not. She dove forward, intent on protecting the crowd from whatever Quackerjack was giving out… and Rowe stayed put – not caring much about disrupting an ally's plans.

She squeezed into the mass of people, trying to get through to the center before it was too late. "Stop! Don't take that it! It's a…"

Then she saw what it was, and it was her who stopped. "… a balloon animal?"

Quackerjack grinned up at her. "It's a puppy! The cuddliest animal there ever was!" The child took the animal and ran off with it, squealing happily. NegaCrimson was too stunned to stop her.

Seeing that a superhero had arrived, though unsure why, the crowd began to disperse. Soon, only Quackerjack, Rowe and NegaCrimson were still by the fountain.

NegaCrimson snapped out of the stupor and grabbed Quackerjack by the collar. "Alright, clown, what the heck are you doing out here?"

"Why bringing smiles to the faces of all the wonderful children of St. Canard, of course!" Quackerjack smiled, despite the grip. "You look like you could use a smile yourself!"

"With one of your toys?" She drawled. "I think not."

"So what do they do, Quacky?" Rowe said, laughing at NegaCrimson's intensity. "Grow to the size of buildings? Make the kids fly? Some other ill-advised but totally awesome feature that parents'll hate?"

"Oh my, no!" Quackerjack gasped, looking shocked. "I wouldn't want to hurt the poor dears. Besides, a simple balloon animal is far more magical than anything like that."

NegaCrimson dropped him, ignoring the light laugh he gave upon hitting the floor. Once more, she was struck dumb. "I'm sorry, what?"

"That's what I said, Fred!" He jumped to his feet, chipper as anything. "But what are you doing here, together no less! Far be it from superheroes to fraternize with known villains, right?"

"I'm sorry, _what?_ " She repeated, stuck on the 'poor dears' comment. So Rowe picked up the slack.

"We're out here looking for you, ya crazy clown!" He shouted. "What are you doing out here, mate? What happened to Whiffle Boy? Where's Extra? We've been going stir crazy lookin' for you!"

Quackerjack blinked, taking that all in at once. "Sorry to worry you. I've just been here, is all, after that nice flying machine gave me a ride."

Rowe bristled. "You mean after your teeth took a bite out of it?"

"Yes, I may have lost control of my temper at the time. I just didn't realize – it was almost like a taxi service!" Quackerjack replied. "I'm not proud of it."

"… taxi service?" Rowe said incredulously. "But what about Extra?"

"Oh, I was worried about her at first. Well, maybe worried isn't the right word. Agitated, maybe?" The jester shrugged. "But if they took her someplace as nice as this, then I'm sure she turned out just fine?"

Rowe could hardly take any more of this. "So you've been out here in the park handing out balloons all night? But what about your plan? What about Whiffle Boy?"

"Oh, that was a bad idea. Knocking down the video game industry just for being successful? It's all so… petty."

" _ **WHAT?!"**_

At this, NegaCrimson – who had since snapped out of her own haze – had to yank Rowe back to avoid the scene from escalating. When she got him a good distance away, he was still muttering to himself.

"Can't believe this – what the heck is he on and how can I get some – this just doesn't make any sense - Petty? I'll show him petty…"

"Rowe." She said once, then again much louder when he wouldn't respond. " _ROWE!"_ He stopped and looked at her, eye twitching in sheer confusion. "Calm down. Breathe." He did so, reluctantly. She waited for him to compose himself before continuing. "You…" She gulped, not happy about her newest realization. "You do realize how he's acting, don't you?"

"Like he's been replaced by a pod person, that's how!" He shouted loud enough for Quackerjack to hear, though Quackerjack just shrugged and busied himself playing hopscotch by the fountain. "Wait," Rowe's eyes bugged out. "Maybe he _did_. Is that a thing that can happen?"

"According to Darkwing's case files, it _is_ a thing that can happen, yes," NegaCrimson said, before cutting off Rowe's inevitable outburst. "But I don't think that's what's going on. Look at him!" She looked back at Quackerjack, who was removing the sharp edges from one of his jack in the boxes as he hopped around.

Rowe didn't even know what he was looking at any more. "It's like he's a completely different person. Like he's the opposite."

"Exactly!" NegaCrimson said. "He's had his trons reversed!"

"You mean, just like…" Rowe gasped as understanding finally hit. "… but how? And why? That sort of thing doesn't just happen!"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out…" NegaCrimson said. Her clutched her temple, trying to force the rational explanation out.

The facts buzzed around her head. A tron reversed Quackerjack. And out of control TeleConstructor. A warehouse of unresponsive TeleConstructors. Signal interference…

… Glomgold. Plumis…

She jolted upright, surprising Rowe for a second. "Rowe!" She said suddenly, "regarding Extra, how do her powers work?"

He stared at her. "Is this really the time to be getting strategic information?"

"Shut up and listen to me!" She hissed. "She can copy skills, right? So if you had someone who knew how to do something, but wasn't doing it, could she do it instead?"

She let the question hang. Rowe, who didn't have all the information she did, continued to stare. "What does that have to do with anything?"

" _It means she's figured it out!"_

NegaCrimson spun around instantly, though Rowe was a mite slower. "What, you talkin' about yourself in the third person now?"

Then he realized that though he recognized the voice, it hadn't come from the duck in front of him.

"Oh…"

Slowly, he turned to the side, to what NegaCrimson was already ready to engage. There was a TeleConstructor floating there – a pristine, non-malfunctioning one – and it was glowing ominously.

Glowing was almost never a good sign. "Oh."

The Crimson Marauder's voice – the same din as her Negaverse counterpart, the one she too had as the Crimson Avenger - echoed out of it from an unseen speaker. _"You're pretty bright for a knockoff, double!"_ NegaCrimson tensed, but didn't let the jab get to her. Not that it stopped her. _"And what are you two doing together? What, is this a date? Talk about pairing spares."_

Unfortunately, Rowe didn't have NegaCrimson's self control, and he took the bait. "Hey, mate! We already went over that and this is not-" His companion punched him sharply in the side, and he shut up. "I mean, er, back off!"

The Marauder cackled, tinny and wild through the static. _"You guys are a riot, do you know that?"_

"Yeah, well. What are _you_ doing here? Why'd you scramble poor Quackerjack's brain, huh? And Glomgold, I guess, but screw _him."_

NegaCrimson glanced at him. "Don't bother asking her. I already know everything."

" _Well, aren't you just the Negaverse's greatest detective?"_ The Marauder said slyly. _"Go ahead, tell him!"_

Rowe looked at NegaCrimson expectantly, but no explanation came. Instead, she gestured behind them in the smallest of ways. "She's not here to shoot the breeze, you know that," she whispered. "We have to get out of here, before whatever trap she has planned acti-"

" _Think fast!"_

The two had only just enough time to realize that the glow coming from the TeleConstructor was heating up. A compartment was opening in the front, and from out of it…

"No! Take cover!" NegaCrimson shouted. Rowe was already on the move – as an otter from the rough side of the tracks, his survival instincts were maybe even a bit more spry than hers. But there didn't seem to be enough time!

In a flash, everything changed…

* * *

 _Darkwing Tower, In The Wee Hours of the Morning…_

Darkwing hurried to and fro across his base, without any real destination. Every once in a while, he would pick up a document from out of a printer or grab a plastic bag full of this or that from inside a cabinet, glance at it for a split second, then toss it away.

"Gah! I can hardly believe it, but Glomgold was involved in so much shady stuff that I might actually have _too much_ evidence! Look at this: purchasing records from an illegal weapon sale. A glove, from a hi-tech theft that even I didn't know was part of the same scheme!" He ranted, very overwhelmed. "That guy would do anything to get at Scrooge. The police'll reject half of these for being superfluous"

"I suppose, but too much beats too little," Techno called down from his perch at the computer. Where Darkwing was going through their physical files, he was doing much the same on their digital files.

"You're right about that," Darkwing sighed. "It's just too bad I had to drag you from your project. Trust me, nobody wants that to work as much as I do."

Techno nodded, though he didn't look away from the screen. "That may be true, though I'm at least a close second." He said, in what might have been a joke. "But this is more important. A confession like this could change _everything._ Glomgold is about to hit rock bottom like a stone."

"Don't forget, he's the one who jumped!" Darkwing added. "But we're going to be the ones who help him get there!" He grinned, and sauntered over to the next group of files, but tripped halfway and ended up buried under a mountain of paper.

"Whoops!" Launchpad chuckled, pulling Darkwing out of the heap. "Careful, Darkwing! Bust of the century or no, papercuts are no joke."

Darkwing ruefully kicked at the paper heap, good mood already gone. "Ridiculous! This would be so much easier if SHUSH would answer a call now and then! We could share notes!" He turned to Launchpad. "Any reply from Mia, at least?"

"Not a one, DW." Launchpad said, a little sadly. "Guess she's busy."

Darkwing scoffed. "So much for a working relationship."

"They're probably doing the same thing we are," Techno replied sensibly. "I doubt anyone there has any time to chat. I'm more worried about NegaCrimson."

Darkwing frowned, his natural exuberance finding another target. "Yeah, that's right! She's been dark ever since we got out the lab. If I say it once, I say it a million times, we need to keep those communicators up to code! She could be at the bottom of the sewer for all we know!"

Launchpad gulped at the mental image. "She's too good for that, I'm sure. Maybe she's just doing a little bit of stealth. Can't have the radio messing you up, right?"

"It would make sense," Techno concluded, though if anything he sounded more worried, not less. "She was prepared for everything tonight, since she was doing patrol by herself. Only Launchpad was available for support, and the Thunderquack can't go everywhere. She might have taken on a threat that she was forced to do herself."

"That girl's been running herself ragged covering for _both_ of us," Darkwing slumped, letting his guilt show on his shoulders. "We can't leave her in the lurch like that."

The corner of Techno's beak quirked sadly. "She volunteered, remember? The blames herself for what happened. It's kind of a shared trait these days."

"True," Darkwing said, matching Techno's sad smile with an ironic chuckle. "And it doesn't help that whenever we see her, we see…" He trailed off. "We really ought to give her something special one of these days. She deserves it."

"Hmm…" Launchpad tapped his beak. "Maybe a nice few brunch somewhere?"

Both Darkwing and Techno glared at him. "Must you always think with your stomach?" Darkwing groaned, knowing his sidekick too well.

"Hey, you know me DW-"

" **EXTERIOR DEFENSES ACTIVATED!"**

Everyone jumped to action. The alert never lied, and was never mistaken. Something unwelcome was attempting to find its way in. Darkwing leapt for where he left his gas gun, while Techno – who was only wearing some of his gadgets – rushed to get the rest of them on. Launchpad, with no gadgets to speak of, just flanked Darkwing – ready to back him up.

The tower went quiet, too quiet. All three heroes – or one and two sidekicks – waited, careful for any sound, any disruption, until…

" **EXTERIOR DEFENSES DE-ACTIVATED!"**

Darkwing dropped his gas gun on the floor. "Wait, what?"

"Maybe it was a false positive," Techno grunted. He was caught still trying to latch one of his more cumbersome external gadgets onto his suit, and was now faced with the possibility of having to take it off.

'Yeah!" Launchpad said. "Maybe the sensors were mistaken!"

"No way!" Darkwing groused. "After all the fine tuning you did on these systems, Techno? There's no way they made a mistake."

Techno flushed. "I'm glad you think so highly of my abilities, Darkwing."

"Well I'm not, mate."

Suddenly, a shape dropped from the ceiling and landed right in the center of the HQ. Rowe stood up and brushed himself off, as if the other three weren't looking at him like his head was on fire.

Granted, his head almost _had_ been on fire a minute ago. "Those blasted defeneses of yours nearly turned me into a puddle! Could ya maybe turn it down a bit?"

"Rowe!" Darkwing made to dash into a confrontation, but slipped on his dropped gas gun. He slid halfway across the room, then had to right himself with an off-balance jump that somehow landed him right in front of the otter – which, of course, he played off as intentional. "What the heck are you doing here?"

"Ain't that the question of the day?" Rowe chuckled. The others didn't seem to see the humor. "Er, I can explain."

"I assume it has something to do with your boss getting indicted?" Techno said, approaching far more carefully. "Whatever you're up to, I'm afraid you're going to have to leave, now. Before we make you."

"Now now," Rowe gulped. "Just calm down. There's no trouble here, mate." He glanced upward. "Any time would be nice."

"Sorry!"

A second shape fell from the ceiling, surprising Darkwing into dropping Rowe. NegaCrimson took the opportunity to hop between Rowe and the others, smiling amiably.

"That's on me, I brought him! And it's such a long story… sorry!" She was speaking a mile a minute. "And I was late, too! Sorry about that! I was just doing some cleaning up there!" She chirped. "You wouldn't believe how many spider-webs are up on the ceiling. But… er… sorry for the misunderstanding!"

The other three stared at her. None of them said a word.

After half a minute, she started to feel self-conscious with all the blank looks. Nervously, she leaned over to Rowe. "I… uh… _did_ say sorry enough times, right? I feel like I did."

Rowe, for his part, fought a laugh like he'd never fought anything before. "I don't think _that's_ what got them gobsmacked, mate."

This was absolutely true. It was not the lack of sorrys that stunned Darkwing, Techno and even Launchpad into gaping silence. Nor the appearance of Rowe, nor even the revelation of spiders living on the ceiling.

It was everything _else_ about NegaCrimson.

To be precise, it was probably the huge, frilly pink dress which she now wore over her costume. And likely the elaborate curls she had gotten her hair styled into, which were billowing out from under her hat like cute little curtains. Or the pink bow she had attached to said hat. Or maybe just the fact that she was smiling and humming like something out of the Sound of Music.

Whichever it was, none of these were expected parts of her appearance.

"W-what the…" Darkwing gasped out. "Crimson… NegaCrimson… whoever, _what in the world are you doing?"_

"Oh, this? W-well, I thought it looked nice, and it had been so long since I freshened up that- "

Seeing that this explanation was not fixing any of the confusion, Rowe stepped forward to interject.

"Look, Darkwing. Like the lady said, it's a long story." Three sets of eyes turned to him, as a nervous dread entered his voice. "And mate, we better tell it fast. Cause we're all in a hurricane of trouble…"

 **To Be Continued...**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** We're in the home stretch now, sports fans. The next arc is the finale, the climax of it all, and our heroes have their work cut out for them from here.

The original idea here was to do several of these little stories in between the fight in the archipelago and what's coming up next, but most of them fell through and I wanted to get to the main event, so most of them ended up here. It allowed me to do fun things like pace the story here with snippets of how everyone around them is doing.

One thing I realized a long ways into Retake Five is that I hadn't done much with Bushroot - who beyond the first could stories fell somewhat by the wayside even in stories that involved the Five despite being one of their leaders this story was started with (not that he would admit it) and, of course, a classic Darkwing baddie, which led me to add a few more idea in this and the upcoming arc that would allow him a stronger role. He's actually rather tricky to write, because he's generally so passive that other characters tend to take the scene from him. Which I guess is why he kept getting away from me in the first place.

Good! Glomgold was fun. Expect more Good! Shenanigans coming up, as well as it's opposite. And for my favorite Duck reference of the day: _Karl Barksalot_ \- named, of course, for Carl Barks.

Either way, next time in **Let's Get Chaotic!** it will take everything to keep St. Canard from tearing itself apart - and hopefully, to save those the heroes have already lost. See you then!


End file.
